(MAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


y 


A 


<  /  V^  Jb ^    A 


C'?/' 


y 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


I  ^  Ilia 

:^  1^  12.0 


1.8 


LA.  Ill  1.6 


VI 


i9 


/a 


'^1 


^> 


O 


/a 


/ 


>^ 


Phoiographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


y^'S^ 


W^.r 


C/a 


fc 
^ 


\ 


CIHM/ICMH 
Microfiche 


CIHM/ICMH 
CollectEon  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historicai  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6td  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


n 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


n 

D 
Q 
D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  ddcolordes,  tachet§es  ou  piqudes 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 


□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


y 


n 


n 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

Lareliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
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mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  dt6  film^es. 


D 
D 
D 
D 


Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualitd  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  material  supplementaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponlble 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
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Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires: 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 


lOX 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

J 

12X 


16X 


2nX 


24X 


28X 


32X 


plaire 
3S  details 
iques  du 
nt  modifier 
xiger  une 
de  filmage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

lzaal(  Walton  Killam  Memorial  Library 
Dalhousie  University 

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filming  contract  specifications. 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grSce  d  la 
g6n6rositd  de: 

Izaak  Walton  Killam  Memorial  Library 
Dalhousie  University 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  fiim6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Id/ 
qudes 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illust  ited  impression. 


taire 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -♦-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  filmds  en  commenqant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comports  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


I  by  errata 
med  to 

nent 

une  pelure, 
fapon  d 

3. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

32X 


mmmmmmmmmm4.^»miiim(imi* 


?r^:r''!::;:;jjj!ai!!;i:,iiyji;:??mr'..i.'..'.i!aBiiuiiii.niwH iiijui^amwiiiiiBiii 


frontiilr  stories 


«*WWeti.^wttt(|4fS!*lK^ 


P 


J 
-> 


V 

f 


By  the  Same  Aiithor. 

Tales  of  an  Enginekr.     With  Rhvmes  of  tlie 
Kail.    ^1.25. 

The  Express  Messenger,  and  Other  .Stories 
of  tlie  Kail.     Si. 25. 

Frontier  Stories.    ^1.25. 


/  ' 

3  I  -^ '? 
yr-   FkONTIItR 

F7 


Stories 


BY 
CY   VVARMAN 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLKS    SCKIBNER'S    SONS 

1898 


'«qMR)HMmlllliiB»<4'WMMtij«i.4.u; -,. j-'^LtuM  I  III  I  ilmiwMiiii 


\\S    ClIARLlvS    SC.RiB.NER's    SoNS. 


,.-, 


^ni\)crsitD  Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


0-^ 


r 


CONTENTS 


PAon 

IlIK    CoLUMH'nK    OK    CUfl'I'IK    Ckkkk 

"INJI-N    FIX'    UM    I'.M'KK-'rAl.K."     .  „ , 

•        •        •        ■  2  1 

A  SrAi.i'  i.-oK  A  Scalp 

..                                                       ^7 

Slayi\(;  thk  Wild  IJl  ll ., 

Vailkv  '!'a.\    ...  ^ 
Ci 

I\  Ti'K  Hospital     ... 

7' 

I  in-;  Hmikjp  of  I'kkk  .    .  ,,. 

o  I 

A  QuiKT  I)\-.    IN  Cklkdi.:    ... 

93 

A    CoWIiOV's    FUNKRAL ,(,. 

HalI'-Brkkds    ... 

121 

Tiir.  Skductive  Si.\-Siiooti:r j^o 

The  Brakemax  and  the  S<^ua\v ,  ,r) 

HOSKANIWI        ... 

H9 

1  ICKAHOO        ....  r 
l6l 

LiriLE  Cayuse 

'     ■     ■     •     • '7f 

IiiK  Wahsatch  IJand  (IF  Bandits      ....  197 

Wa.vtawaxda ^jj 

A  Couple  o'  Captaixs    ...  ..- 

-j/ 


[^ 


! 


I 
I 


I 


1   i 


tl)t  Coliimbiiif  of  Cripplr  Crrrh 


i 


I 


i 


Frontier  Stories 


THE   COLUMBINE    OF^^   CKIIM'LFi 
CREEK 

/^N'CE  there  w.is  war  at  Cripple  Creek  — 
^^  red-iiuuillird  war,  as  tiiey  say  in  battle 
tales.  It  all  hr^aii  uheii  the  miners  of  the 
district  went  on  strike.  First  they  simply  (luit 
work,  and  there  was  idleness.  'I'heii  they 
objected  to  anybody  else  working,  and  there 
was  trouble  ;  and  Hnally  they  fortified  i'.iill 
Hill,  placed  a  small  cannon  at  the  top,  and 
there  was  anarch}'. 

Two  railroads  ran  to  Crijjple  Creek  from 
Coloradcj  Springs,  and  they  were  soon  com- 
peting fur  the  business  of  carrying  deputy 
sheriffs  to  the  turbulent  cami). 

From  the  'MIeart  of  the  Lion"  district 
in  the  far  northwest  came  trouble-loving 
foreigners    of    almost    every    faith    and    many 


«<ttteaua<ba*y»»te.'aiaMfoii<'^wnini  i 


FRO.VTIKR  STORIES 


tongues.  These  men  built  strong  forts,  into 
which  they  piled  rifles,  revolvers,  salt  meat, 
and  dynamite.  War  corresi)ondents  from 
the  Denver  dailies  wrote  thrilling  stories  of 
battles  in  thf  bush,  and  told  wonderful  tales 
of  deadly  dynamite  mines  that  had  been  laid 
in  the  path  of  the  sheriff's  army.  From  the 
larger  cities  of  the  West,  men  who  were  unhap- 
pily married,  who  could  n't  whistle  a  tune,  or 
had  some  other  good  and  valid  reason  for 
courting  death,  came  and  offered  themselves 
either  to  the  county  or  to  the  strikers. 

One  rainy  night  a  train-load  of  deputy 
sheriffs  arrived  at  the  Divide,  where  they  left 
the  train  and  began  to  march  across  the  range 
to  the  riotous  camp.  All  night  they  tramped, 
tramped  the  slippery  trail ;  while  up  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  range  a  locomotive  toiled  over 
a  new  and  uncertain  track,  with  another  train- 
load  of  men  who  were  coming  to  the  rescue  of 
the  State. 

It  was  not  yet  light  when  the  train  came  to 
a  stop  in  sight  of  the  terminal,  and  instantiy  a 
dozen  rifles  rattled  in  the  cedars,  and  the  win- 
dows   of   the    coaches   were    shattered.       The 


• 


THE   COLUMBIXE    OF  CRIPrLE    CREEK 


sheriff,  or  deputy  in  coranunnd,  was  instantly 
killed,  but  his  successor  ordered  the  men  to 
charge  the  rioter  and  in  that  charge  another 
life  was  lost.  A  desperado  who  had  joined 
the  strikers  and  who  had  a  natural  hatred  for 
an  officer  of  the  law,  faced  a  single  deputy  in 
a  narrow  trail  and  offered  battle.  The  officer, 
who  happened  to  be  a  quick  shot,  had  the 
good  fortune  to  "  wing  "  his  antagonist  at  the 
first  exchange  of  comi)liments,  and  the  latter, 
having  lost  the  use  of  his  pistol  arm,  turned 
and  ran.  The  sheriff  gave  chase,  and  in  the 
gray  dawn  saw  the  man  dodge  either  in  or 
around  a  board  house.  As  the  man  disap- 
peared the  sheriff  sent  a  couple  of  bullets  after 
him.  Now  the  door  of  the  house  opened 
quickly ;  a  figure  in  a  long  robe  stood  u})on 
the  threshold,  and  seeing  the  man  driving 
straight  for  the  house  with  drawn  and  smoking 
pistol,  raised  its  right  arm  and  fired.  The 
sheriff  fell  to  the  ground,  shot  through  the 
right  lung  with  a  forty-four  calibre  cartridge. 
The  figure  upon  the  threshohl  waited  a  mo- 
ment, and  when  nobody  came,  advanced 
slowly   to    where    the    wounded    man  lay    and 


;^.i:MH:m^- 


'. isl .ih-jCitUi  riit>l%irMii  II 


/■•AOX I  IE R   S  T(  }R I ES 


bent  over  him.  The  man  was  already  uncon- 
scious, but  evidently  still  alive,  and  in  that 
condition  was  carried  into  the  house  with 
such  tenderness  as  one  would  not  expect  to 
receive  in  so  rough  a  community  at  such  a 
time. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  the  wounded 
man  opened  his  eyes  and  asked,  with  the  air 
of  a  fainting  actress,  "  Where  am  I?" 

"  In  the  house  of  a  friend,"  said  the  other. 

The  sick  man  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment 
to  collect  his  thoughts,  and  as  he  opened  them 
again  he  saw  tiie  figure  disappearing  behind 
the  chenille  hangings. 

Only  three  or  four  men  sat  down  to  break- 
fast at  Mrs.  Collins's  boarding-house  on  the 
morning  of  the  first  br.ltle.  There  had  been 
fighting ;  two  men  had  been  killed,  and  the 
strikers  had  retired  behind  the  breastworks. 

A  local  doctor  had  split  the  skin  below  the 
sheriffs  shoulder-blade,  removed  the  lead, 
sluiced  the  wound,  left  a  man  to  look  after  the 
patient,  and  promised  to  call  again.  He  did 
call  again,  and  again,  until  the  strikers  waited 


(U-*tafflOi^   •■; 


THE   COLUMBIXE   OF  CRIPrt.E    CRFEK 


ui'ou  liim  one  dark  night,  and  informctl  him 
that  if  he  continued  to  doctor  the  deputy 
sheriff,  who  had  come  to  the  camp  to  slioot 
innocent  workingmen  for  so  mucli  a  day,  he 
would  be  made  to  suffer  for  it. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  miners  will 
boycott  me  if  I  save  this  man's  life?"  asked 
the  doctor,   indignantly. 

"  ^^'ell,  not  exactly,"  the  spokesman  replied. 
"^^e'll  most  like  give  ye  notice,  an'  if  ye  still 
hang  about  — wdl,  ye  won't  need  no  patients 
—  see?" 

Although  he  had  prided  himself  on  being 
the  first  doctor  in  the  camp,  and  on  knowing 
every  man  in  the  district  by  sight,  at  least, 
these  faces  were  all  new  to  the  doctor. 

The  business  at  Mrs.  Collins's  boarding- 
house  fell  off  during  the  strike  to  such  an 
extent  that  she  was  obliged  to  discharge  the 
cook,  employ  a  man  to  wait  at  the  talkie,  and 
go  into  the  kitchen  herself.  The  old  men 
would  not  boycott  her,  but  they  kept  away. 
The  boycotted  doctor,  who  had  heard  of  her 
trouble  and  knew  the  cause  of  it,  came  to 
patronize     the     widow's     boar<ling-housc,     for 


,>!ima«<tti.i'irtnw»i  I    \' 


8 


FKONTJJ.K   STORIES 


misery   loves    company.      Finally  she    let    the 
waiter  go. 


At  last  June  came  and  put  the  winter  away. 
The  strike  had  been  "  declared  off,"  but  none 
of  the  former  boarders  had  returned  to  the 
table  of  the  widow  Collins.  She  was  harboring 
a  hated  deputy,  the  story  went,  v:ho  had  been 
wounded  at  her  very  door,  —  shot  through  the 
right  lung,  —  and  they  would  not  eat  under  her 
roof  so  long  as  this  man  remained.  Tie 
doctor's  practice  had  suffered,  but  he  had  a 
bank  account  that  had  grown  up  with  the 
camp,  and  continued  to  pay  his  board  at  the 
widow's,  where  his  best  paying  patient  was 
beginning  to  convalesce. 

Mrs.  Collins  found  plenty  of  time  to  devote 
to  the  wounded  deputy,  now  that  she  had  no 
boarders  (if  we  except  the  doctor),  and  often 
sat  for  hours  together  reading  aloud  to  him. 
Nuns  have  lost  their  hearts  to  handsome  pa- 
tients;  priests  have  forgotten  their  vows  under 
the  soft  pressure  of  a  woman's  hand,  and  these 
people  were  not  stronger  than  priests  and  nuns. 
The  deputy  soon  began  to  listen  for  the  first 


>';,ii-i«iluat»W«Mfctt.  \- 


THE   CO  1. 1' Mill  NE   OF  CK/rPLE   CREE.K         9 

footsteps  of  his  gentle  hostess,  nml  to  mark 
them  as  she  went  to  and  fro  about  her  morn- 
ing's work.  In  time  he  could  tell  by  the  rattle 
of  plates  when  the  last  of  the  breakfast  dishes 
were  being  put  away. 

*•'  Vou  may  go  out  and  get  the  air  now, 
John,"  he  would  say  to  his  attendant. 

'"Just,  bang  on  the  windy,  mum,  if  I  am 
wanted,"  ]o\\n  would  say,  for  he  knew  a  few 
little  things,  and  Mrs.  Collins  would  nod  her 
head  goodnaturedly  and  reach  for  the  broom 
to  give  the  dining-room  a  brushing  u}).  Of 
course  she  prided  herself  on  her  ability  to  keep 
her  little  secret,  and  the  sick  man,  who  had 
given  himself  over  to  single-blessedness  a 
decade  ago,  knew  that  if  he  ever  fell  in  love 
not  a  soul  would  know  of  it. 

And  that 's  the  way  things  went  on  till  the 
end  of  June,  and  the  sick  man  stood  in  the 
middle  of  summer  with  the  wild  grass  about 
his  feet,  wild  birds  above,  his  hands  full  of 
flowers,  and  his  heart  full  of  love. 

One  day  Mrs.  Collins  went  up  the  hill  a 
little  way  with  them  to  show  them  a  pretty 
spring,  with  columbine  all  about  it ;   and  when 


TO 


FR ONTli: R  S  TORIES 


II 


tlicy  had  found  the  place,  John  (he  was  irish) 
climbed  away  iq)  the  mountain  side,  almost 
out  of  sight,  and  the  lovers  were  left  alone. 
The  panorama  thac  spread  out  before  them  was 
beyond  description.  The  world  was  esi^ecially 
beautiful  to  the  man,  for  he  had  fallen  asleep, 
as  it  were,  when  winter  was  everywhere  in  the 
liills,  and  now  awoke  to  see  the  summer  in  its 
matchless  mantle  of  many-shaded  green,  Away 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  iiill  lay  the  little  valley, 
where  in  winter  the  snow,  and  in  summer  the 
grass,  will  touch  your  stirrups  if  you  ride  that 
way.  Across  the  valley  c"ept  a  narrow  ribbon 
of  water,  and  far  to  the  north  the  new  grade  of 
the  Midland  Railway  tumbled  down  into  the 
dark  canon.  To  the  east  and  a  little  south 
rose  a  mile  of  mountain  —  that  was  Pike's 
Peak,  standing  there  in  the  blaze  of  summer 
like  a  great  queen  in  a  green  gown  and  a  white 
mantle.  A  black  plume  fluttered  from  her 
spotless  crest  and  floated  down  into  the  dark 
shadows  below  her  shoulders  —  that  was  the 
smoke  of  a  locomotive  away  up  there  against 
the  sky. 


IS  irish) 
,   alipost 
rt  alono. 
Lhem  was 
especially 
ni  asleep, 
:re  in  the 
11  er  in  its 
;n,     Away 
tie  valley, 
mmer  the 

ride  that 
o\v  ribbon 
,v  grade  of 
[1  into  the 
ittle  south 
.vas    Pike's 

f  summer 
nd  a  white 

from    her 
the  dark 

t  was  the 

-re  against 


Tlir.    COLUMIUXH   OF  CKiri'LE   CREKh'       I  I 


One  day  wlicn  they  had  gone  to  the  spring 
and  the  intellectual  Irishman  had  left  them 
alone,  Mrs.  Collins  climbed  up  into  a  little 
side  gulcli  where  they  had  seen  some  beautiful 
flowers,  and  when  she  returned  she  had  her 
hands  full  of  rough  native  rock.  Her  face  was 
all  aglow  with  excitement  as  she  assured  her 
companion  that  it  was  pay  dirt.  She  had  been 
all  her  life  in  the  hills.  Her  father  had  been 
an  assayer,  and  Mr.  Collins  superintendent  of 
mines.  'I'he  man,  who  knew  nothing  of  mineral 
rock,  looked  at  her  and  smiled,  glad  to  encour- 
age her,  for  she  became  radiantly  beautiful  to 
him,  away  there  in  the  hills,  as  she  tried  to 
exi)lain  to  him  the  nature  of  the  rock  and  how 
it  came  to  be  there  so  near  the  surface.  It 
was  a  "  blow  out,"  a  chimney  of  ore,  she  said, 
and  when  John  came  down  she  made  him  plant 
a  stake,  upon  which  she  wrote  the  sheriffs 
name. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Collins  would  go  up  to 
the  claim  again.  She  was  so  enthusiastic  over 
it  that  her  lodger  began  to  be  sorry  for  her, 
and  when  she  said  she  would  like  to  sink  a 
shaft,  he  set  John  to  digging  a  hole  near  the 


'^^<'e.M««i.9u>v>«ftcu^-- .  ,^  ■ 


I  2 


FROXIIER  STOli/KS 


stake.  I'y  the  time  the  hole  was  ten  feet  deep 
tlie  sick  man  was  strong  enoiigli  to  draw  tiie 
bucKct  out.  Day  after  day  they  worked  at  the 
claim,  John  at  the  bottom,  the  deputy  at  the 
top,  and  Mrs.  Collins  romiuL,'  up  two  or  three 
times  a  day  to  sample  the  ore  and  offer  valuable 
suggestions  as  to  the  proper  timbers  to  be  used. 
The  man  who  was  working  the  windlass  thought 
the  timbering  was  a  waste  of  time.  "  For," 
said  he,  "  when  we  have  gnjwn  tired  of  this 
playing  at  prospecting  we  Ml  haul  up  the  rope 
and  let  the  hole  fill  uj)." 

"  We  '11  all  be  rich,"  said  Mrs.  Collins,  ''  be- 
fore this  shaft  fills  up." 

They  had  worked  the  claim  more  than  a 
month,  made  love  and  lost  money,  but  there 
was  no  understanding  between  Mrs.  Collins 
and  her  companion  as  to  the  condition  of  the 
l)artnership.  Mis  name  was  on  the  stake : 
they  both  knew  that ;  but  the  claim  was  h'jrs 
by  right  of  discovery,  as  was  his  heart  by  the 
same  token.  They  seemed  to  have  reached 
that  happy  state  wherein  it  is  more  glorious  to 
give  than  to  receive,  and  went  on  drilling  and 


;i 


" .■^-nwOTIilimnnriilr  ir  WM> 


THE   COLUMBlXi:   OF  €/!//'/'/./■:   (  AV-.AA'       I 


I 


trusting  cacli  other  i)liiul!y.  Mrs,  Collins  liad 
faith  in  tiic  future  of  the  "  Cohimbinc,"  as  she 
called  the  claim,  and  lie  was  happy,  willing  to 
toil  all  day  to  see  her  smile  at  night,  'i'hc 
trusting  pair  were  as  busy  as  they  were  hai)iiy, 
while  John  and  Cupid  were  both  working  over 
time.  John's  salary  had  been  doubled  since 
his  (hities  had  increased.  Every  Saturday  night 
he  receiver  eighteen  shining  dollars,  and  every 
Sunday  slipped  in  through  a  side  door  and  left 
them  in  the  vault  of  the  First  National  liank 
of  Cripple  Creek.  The  smooth-f:iced,  boyish- 
looking  cashier  (he  was  Irish,  too)  came  in 
time  to  expect  John  of  a  Sunday  morning  as 
a  freighter  expects  a  cocktail. 

It  was  during  John's  absence  one  Sunday 
that  Mrs.  Collins  discovered  in  an  Eastern 
review  an  illustrated  account  of  the  Cripple 
Creek  war.  She  had  begun  to  read  it  aloud, 
when,  suddenly,  upon  turning  a  page,  she  came 
to  a  portrait  which  she  recognized,  —  the  picture 
of  one  of  the  deputy  sheriffs  who  had  been 
killed.  A  dozen  lines  recounted  the  virtues 
of  the  dead  deputy,  of  whose  past  life  up 
to  that  time  she   had  known  very  little,  and 


14 


J-RONTILK  :i  TORIES 


cared  less.  This  she  had  been  reading  in 
silence,  her  bosom  heavng  with  emotion,  until 
at  its  conclusion  two  te.trs  stole  through  her 
lashes  and  fell  u)^op  ♦He  page.  Her  companion 
had  been  watch. .i^  aer  intently,  and  at  sight 
of  her  tears  crossed  the  small  space  that  was 
between  them  and  took  a  seat  beside  her  on 
the  little  hair-cloth  titc-d-tctc.  In  the  open 
book  he  looked  upon  his  own  likeness,  and 
read  tlie  lines  that  told  at  once  of  his  life  and 
death,  the  reading  of  which  had  so  affected 
her,  and  he  guessed  that  she  must  love  him. 
Many  times  she  had  thrilled  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  and  he  at  the  touch  of  her  garments 
as  she  brushed  past  him,  but  never  had  they 
been  so  near  each  other  as  now.  Those  who 
have  sat  near  the  flame  of  a  divine  passion 
know  what  it  is ;  those  who  have  not  have 
the  best  of  their  lives  to  live.  It  is  something 
to  be  felt  and  not  talked  about,  and  we  shall 
not  attempt  to  describe  this  scene.  We  know 
that  before  John  returned  there  was  a  complete 
understanding  between  the  two  prospectors. 
The  name  upon  the  stake  was  not  to  be 
changed,  and   it  was  to  be  her  name  as  well. 


I 


•■;f- 
J 
-I 


t 


-1«»wt«IWWHI8lBa»W"<np»  , 


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yv//-;  coLUMUixE  of  CRiri'Li-:  cheek     15 

It  was  here,  alsu,  at  this  time,  that  the  erstwhile 
deputy  learned  the  name  of  his  long  robed 
assailant ;  for  Mrs.  Collins  would  not  consent 
to  be  his  wife  until  she  had  told  him  it  was 
her  hand  tnat  had  held  the  i)istol  that  had 
almost  taken  his  life ;  but  he  forgave  her. 


,'ell. 


The  happy  i)rospector  began  to  look  at  life 
seriously,  now  that  he  had  elected  to  take  a 
wife,  and  thought  it  time  to  stoj)  this  playing 
at  mining,  and  devote  his  waking  hours  to 
something  more  profitable. 

He  had  been  sober  and  industrious  all  his 
life,  and  bad  saved  some  money.  IJut  Mrs. 
Collins  had  faith  enough  in  the  claim  for  a 
whole  family,  and  when  her  future  husband 
talked  of  abandoning  the  prospect  she  would 
not  listen  to  the  proposition. 

"  Hut  let  us  engage  in  some  other  business," 
urgetl  the  man ;  "  open  a  little  shop,  say,  and 
prospect  on  the  side.  I  have  a  thousand 
dollars  in  the  First  National  Bank  of  Denver 
that  would  start  us  in  business." 

Mrs.  Collins  patted  a  protesting  foot,  looked 
out  at  the  window  ;.nd  up  the  gulch  where  her 


i6 


FROXTIER  STORIES 


faith  was.  The  prospector  read  his  answer  in 
her  f:ice. 

"  But  if  you  say  so,"  he  went  on,  "  we  will 
blow  it  all  against  the  prospect  and  start  anew 
—  what  do  you  say?  " 

"  Put  it  all  into  the  *  Columbine,' "  was 
her  reply,  as  she  slipped  her  hand  into  his, 
''  and  if  we  fail,  we  can  work  —  we  are  both 
strong." 

So  the  bank  account  was  transferred  to 
Cripple  Creek,  a  full  force  was  put  to  work, 
and  the  money  began  to  burn.  Mrs.  Collins, 
anxious  to  do  her  part,  insisted  on  boarding 
the  men.  The  man  who  loved  her  objected, 
but  yielded  in  the  end,  as  he  had  done  in  the 
other  matter,  weakened  his  own  hand,  and 
helped  her. 


«'i 


The  days  and  weeks  went  by  rapidly  enough 
now.  The  summer  had  left  the  hills,  but  it 
stayed  in  the  hearts  of  the  happy  lovers. 
Nature  in  this  wonderland  loses  none  of  her 
beauty  in  changing  from  summer  to  autumn 
dress.  The  white  mantle  was  deepening  upon 
the  shoulders  of  the  queen  of  the  foot  hills; 


s 

t 


I 

i 


Tin:  coi.v.MDisE  OF  CRirrr.i-:  cki:i:k    17 


in 


irs. 
icr 
nil 
on 
Is; 


■ 


winter's  frosty  finger  had  touched  the  <iuiveriiig 
aspen  and  put  ;il)out  her  waist  a  girtli  of  goUl, 
while  her  trailing  gown  was  flowered  with  oaks 
aflame. 

There  war>  gold  in  the  sunset  and  gold  in  the 
hills,  but  not  a  trace  in  the  rock  that  came 
from  the  Columbine.  The  last  dollar  had  been 
drawn  from  the  bank,  and  the  prospector  was 
losing  heart,  but  the  brave  woman  urged  him 
on.  'I'he  men,  being  sure  of  their  board, 
offered  to  work  another  week  and  trust  the 
"  boss  "  for  their  wages,  and  the  proposition 
had  been  accepted.  It  was  not  until  the  after- 
noon of  the  last  day  of  that  last  week's  work 
that  the  character  of  the  ore  changed.  Mrs. 
Collins  had  not  visited  the  mine  that  day. 
Her  heart  had  been  too  heavy  to  carry  up  the 
hill.  When  they  had  finished  supper,  and  the 
men  had  gone,  with  empty  pockets,  to  swell 
the  crowds  in  the  streets  and  saloons,  John 
brought  out  a  piece  of  the  rock  that  had  come 
up  in  the  last  bucket.  He  gave  it  to  the 
woman,  who  looked  at  it,  turned  the  lamp 
higher,  and  looked  again. 

"  It 's  ore  !    it 's   ore  !  "   she   cried,   holding 


Ic 


J'KOX  TJEi'C   .V  TOKIES 


the  piece  of  rock  close  to  the  light,  as  the  two 
men  drew  near.  She  hugged  it,  kissed  it,  and 
wept  over  it,  until  the  men  were  sorry  for  her. 
One  of  them  i)ut  a  hand  gently  upon  her 
shoulder  to  attract  her  attention. 

"You  don't  believe?"  she  asked,  excitedly; 
"  come  with  me." 

The  help  in  the  kitchen  shrank  from  the 
woman  as  she  entered,  thinking  her  mad.  A 
peculiar  characteristic  of  the  mineral-bearing 
rock  of  this  region  is  that,  when  exposed  to 
intense  heat,  it  will  show  beads  of  pure  gold 
upon  the  surface.  Mrs.  Collins  knew  this,  and 
she  placed  the  rock  on  the  top  of  the  range, 
which,  being  full  of  pitch  knots,  was  red  hot. 
In  a  few  moments  the  rock  began  to  heat. 
The  woman  smiled  triumphantly,  while  the 
rest  stood  about  in  open-mouthed  amazement 
and  watched  the  rock  sweat  gold. 

"Now  will  you  believe?  Now  will  you 
believe?"  cried  Mrs.  Collins,  turning  to  the 
man  who  had  called  it  '•  playing  at  prospect- 
ing ;  "  and  to  the  surprise  of  all  she  kissed  him 
and  burst  into  tears  again,  and  he  led  her 
away. 


I 


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,  and 

her. 
her 


the 
A 


''  Infim  J?iu'  mil  pnpcr.tnlU 


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,«,.    V 


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it; 


II         I 


I'  i 

„ 


Si' 

i 
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(f 


I 


< 


"INJUN    FIN'    UM    PAPER-TALK." 

AWAY  to  the  west  and  a  little  south,  where 
the  corners  of  Colorado,  Utah,  and 
Nevada  come  close  together,  there  is  a  rough 
and  roadless  country,  filled  with  high  moun- 
tains, dark  canons,  and  deep  and  rapid  rivers. 
Between  the  hills  are  verdant  vales,  notably 
the  valley  of  the  San  Juan,  where  countless 
herds  feed  and  wax  fat.  Here,  for  the  past 
four  or  five  years,  old  Hatch  and  his  band  of 
red  robbers  had  made  life  a  burden  to  stock- 
men, and  the  cattle  business  a  losintr  lmuic. 
They  were  mostly  renegade  Utes.  Hatch 
himself  was  a  troublesome  mixture  of  Utc, 
Mexican,  Hot  Tamolla,  and  white  man.  He 
was  short  and  stout,  with  a  thick  neck  and  an 
ugly,  dark,  round  face  that  was  seamed  and 
scarred  like   the    face    of  a    German    student. 


I 


I 
t 


J-Ki).\  JIKK    S  IOK!ES 


■  r 


i< 


He  was  an  outlaw,  a  desperado  pure  and 
simple  j  a  quick,  impulsive,  hut  dead  shot,  and 
he  ruled  his  band,  not  with  an  iron  hand,  but 
with  an  iron  rod  with  a  hole  in  it.  He  was  the 
one  supreme  judge  who  passed  upon  the  acts 
of  his  associates,  and  from  his  decision  there 
was  no  appeal.  Hatch  was  quite  a  drunkard 
in  his  way,  but  he  never  allowed  his  men  to 
drink  while  on  duty.  Once  a  Navajo,  who  had 
joined  the  gang,  grew  groggy  while  on  picket 
duty.  He  slept  the  night  away  and  up  into 
the  morning,  and  when  old  Hatch  found  him 
so  he  had  him  lashed  to  the  cedar  tree  against 
which  he  reposed,  and  then  stole  sofdy  away, 
leaving  the  luckless  Navajo  to  be  rudely 
awakened  by  a  band  of  gaunt  wolves  that  were 
already  hanging  about  the  camp.  The  heart- 
less leader  laughed  when  he  thought  how  the 
Navajo  would  writhe  and  wriggle  in  a  vain 
effort  to  break  his  bonds.  "  INIebby  so,"  he 
said,  "  coyotes  come  and  cut  him  rope,  an' 
mebby  so  cut  him  th'oat."  Just  how  it  all 
ended  I  don't  know,  for  all  we  found  were  the 
white  bones  of  the  drunken  Navajo,  with  a 
rotten  reata  still  about  his  arms,  holding  them 


'  IXy  6'.V  FIX'    UM  PAPE  K  -  TA  LK" 


23 


'■i 


i 


hard  to  the  trunk  of  a.  tree  that  stood  at  the 
head  of  I'lpsum  \Vash.  Doubtless,  if  you  are 
passing  that  way,  you  may  sec  them  there  sLiil. 
The  boy  ■ —  a  mere  youth,  who  had  run  away 
from  home  to  become  a  cowboy — wlio  was 
our  guide  across  this  wild  waste  of  the  world's 
ballast,  who  showed  us  the  bones  and  told 
this  talc,  was  himself  murdered  by  the  "  Red 
Band"  in  less  than  a  month  from  the  day  we 
left  him. 

The  murder  of  this  boy,  who  was  in  the 
service  of  one  of  the  large  cattle  companies, 
caused  the  stockmen  on  the  San  Juan  to  get 
together  and  resolve  to  put  a  quick  end  to 
the  Retl  Band  of  desperadoes  and  oudaws. 
Many  expeditions  had  been  organized  for  the 
purpose  of  capturing  or  killing  off  the  trouble- 
some gang,  but  all  efforts  had  failed.  They 
were  in  Colorado  to-day,  in  New  Mexico 
to-morrow,  and  anoti  er  day  might  see  them 
in  Nevada,  or  over  the  border  into  the  territory 
of  Utah.  The  little  army  that  now  went  forth 
to  avenge  the  death  of  the  young  <  owboy  was 
led  by  a  reformed  half-breed  who  had  been 
for  a  brief  season  one  of  the  gang.     This  half- 


vsm\mmvm 


>  , 


24 


FRONTIER   STORIES 


ti      ) 
I 


■%<\ 


\h 


breed  wns  rather  intelligent,  and  had  the  repu- 
tation, among  the  Indians,  of  being  able  to 
decipher  i)aper-talk,  which  to  them  seemed  a 
marvellous  accomplishment.  About  this  time 
one  of  the  robbers,  who  had  just  had  his  ears 
shot  off  by  old  Hatch  for  having  awkwardly 
stampeded  a  band  of  horses  which  they  were 
preparing  to  steal,  deserted  the  Red  Band  and 
joined  the  cattle  men.  Prompted  by  a  spirit 
of  revenge  this  crop-eared  outlaw  cheerfully 
led  the  stockmen  to  the  camp  of  the  robbers, 
and  the  battle  was  on  in  no  time.  The  de- 
serter was  recognized  at  once  and  promptly 
perforated  by  the  members  of  the  band,  who, 
after  emptying  their  rifles,  galloped  away,  leav- 
ing two  of  their  number  behind.  Instead  of 
being  frightened  by  this  encounter,  the  Red 
liand  became  more  desperate  and  daring  than 
ever.  In  the  meantime  old  Hatch  came  to  be 
hated  as  much  as  he  was  feared  by  the  mem- 
bers of  his  gang.  They  might  have  killed  him 
off,  and  doubtless  would  have  done  so,  only 
Hatch  had  a  son  who  would  naturally  inherit 
the  command,  and  who  would  just  as  naturally 
([o  some  killing  himself  on  his  flither's  account ; 


I 


''ixyux  F/.\"  r.v  a ;/'/: a*- /'.//. a'" 


25 


so     Hatch,    Sr.  —  ITatch-a-Kaw,    as    he     was 
callcc'  —  was  permitted   to   Hve. 

One  day  the  band  was  surprised  by  a  com- 
pany of  cowboys,  and  a  fierce  and  desperate 
fight  followed.  It  had  been  quietly  arranged 
among  the  members  of  the  Red  l^ind  that 
their  leader  should  be  removed  during  the 
next  engagement.  A  Navajo,  who  hated  the 
Ute  leader  on  general  principles,  and  particu- 
larly because  of  his  cruelty  to  the  drunken 
man  at  lOpsum  Wash,  had  been  selected  to 
kill  old  Platch.  This  particular  battle  was  so 
fierce  and  fatal  that  it  seemed  for  a  time  that 
old  Hatch,  who  always  fought  at  the  head  of 
his  band,  must  surely  fall ;  but  he  did  not. 
Men  went  down  at  his  very  elbow  and  still  he 
sat  his  horse  as  though  he  were  bullet  i)roof. 
The  cowboys,  fighting  in  a  little  open  park, 
were  at  a  great  disadvantage,  for  the  robbers 
were  among  the  trees  and  rocks.  Two  of  the 
cowboys  had  their  horses  shot  from  under 
them,  and  now  as  they  leaped  to  places  behind 
two  of  their  companions,  old  Hatch  shouted  to 
his  men,  and  the  Red  Tnand,  uttering  a  wild 
yell,  (lashed  forward  in  pursuit  of  the  cowboys, 


26 


FROXTIER  STOR//:S 


who  were  already  flying  from  the  field.  The 
Navajo,  who  had  been  expecting  old  Hatch  to 
fall  at  every  volley  from  the  cowboys,  was  dis- 
ai)i)ointed.  He  liad  allowed  the  golden  oppor- 
tunity to  pass,  and  the  thought  of  it  made 
him  desperate.  He  had  caught  quick  side 
glances  from  two  or  three  of  his  comi)anions 
during  the  engagement,  and  now  as  tliey 
charged  he  saw  them  laughing  at  him.  They 
were  calling  him  a  coward  — squaw —  in  their 
minds  and  the  shame  of  it  all  made  him  mad. 
Young  Hatch  had  caught  the  glances  of  the 
Red  murderers  and  knew  what  it  meant. 

"  Now  1  Now  !  "  said  one  of  the  gang,  riding 
close  by  the  Navajo.  But  the  firing  from  the 
enemy  had  already  ceased,  and  the  Navajo 
knew  that  if  their  leader  were  to  fall  now  the 
circumstance  would  attract  attention,  and  cause 
young  Hatch  to  investigate.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  watchful  heir  apparent  had  an  eye  on 
him,  and  so  when  his  companions  called  him 
*' squaw "  to  his  very  face  he  raised  his  rifie 
and  fired.  The  assassin  had  scarcely  taken 
his  eyes  from  his  f:illing  victim  when  a  bullet 
from  young  Hatch's  rifle  passed    through  his 


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27 


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heart.  Ilatcli  had  been  in  command  less  llian 
four  seconds  when  a  third  shot  was  fired  in 
this  mutinous  engagement,  and  that  bullet 
pierced  the  leader's  right  lung.  At  this  point 
the  gang  seemed  to  lose  heart,  and  when 
young  Hatch  wheeled  his  horse  and  faced  them 
not  a  hand  was  raised  against  him.  His  face 
was  hard,  and  his  half-closed  eyes  were  full  of 
hate. 

"  Hatch-a-Kaw  is  dead,"  he  said,  waving 
a  hand  toward  the  fallen  leader,  "  killed  by  one 
of  his  own  people ;  he  could  not  have  been 
killed  otherwise.  Behold  Hatch-a-Kaw- Kaw, 
the  new  leader,  who  cannot  be  killed  !  "  and 
he  pointed  proudly  to  the  torn  place  in  his 
breast  where  the  bullet  had  passed  out.  The 
gang  were  awed  by  this  indisputable  evidence 
of  a  charmed  life,  and  only  grunted  and 
glanced  suspiciously  at  one  another. 

"Docs  any  man  say,"  young  Hatch  went 
on,  "that  Hatch-a-Kaw- Kaw  shall  not  com- 
mand? If  any  man  would  lead  this  band  let 
him  first  be  shot  as  I  have  been,  and  if  he  die 
not,  then  let  him  eat  of  the  lizard,  the  rattle- 
snake, and  the  owl,  and  if  he  still  live  he  shall 
be  chief  of  the  Red  Band." 


28 


FRO.\'T/EK  STORIES 


I    f 


Tliis  was  unquestionably  a  fair  proposition, 
but  there  were  no  takers.  'I'hree  or  four  mem- 
bers of  the  gang  reined  their  horses  close 
together  and  discusseil  the  matter,  while  young 
Hatch  kept  his  small  eyes  playing  from  one 
to  the  other,  for  he  was  not  quite  sure  about 
the  charmed  life  he  pretended  to  enjoy. 

"  We  are  willing,"  said  one  of  the  robbers, 
speaking  for  the  conference  committee,  "  that 
Hatch-a-Kaw-Kaw  shall  rule,  but  not  as  his 
father  ruled." 

"And  what  fault  can  you  find  in  that  just 
man?"  demanded  the  leader. 

"  We  object  to  being  left  lashed  to  a  tree 
to  be  eaten  up  alive,"  said  the  spokesman. 

"Very  well,"  said  Hatch,  after  a  moment's 
thought.  "  Hereafter  when  a  man  deserves 
chastisement  he  shall  be  shot  as  becomes  a 
warrior;  "  and  the  gang  grunted  their  assent. 

In  a  shallow  grave  they  cached  old  Hatch, 
and  by  his  side  his  assassin.  The  cowboys  in 
their  retreat  had  seen  the  fight  and  the  fall  of 
the  desperate  leader,  and  now  froni  the  cliffs 
above  they  witnessed  the  silent  funeral.  After 
the  obsequies  the  new  leader  put  himself  at  the 


ill 


I- 


"/.Vyi'.V  FIX'   UM  PAPER-TALK 


osition, 
r  mcm- 
3  close 
;  young 
im  one 
1  about 

robbers, 
that 


<( 


as  his 
hat  just 

)  a  tree 

lan. 

omcnt's 
cserves 
omes  a 
assent. 
Hatch, 
boys  in 
fall  of 
liie  cliffs 
After 
f  at  the 


head  of  the  gmg,  and  they  filed  out  over  tiie 
foot-hills. 

That  night,  when  they  h  id  encamped,  tiie 
peace  pipe  was  brought,  and  when  young 
Hatch  had  eaten  the  heart  of  an  owl,  the  heail 
of  a  rattlesnake,  and  swallowed  a  li/ard,  they 
all  smoked,  and  Hatch-a-Kaw-Kaw  was  de- 
clared chief  of  the  Red  Band  of  Robbers. 

"Now,"  said  the  reformed  ha'fd)reed  to  his 
cowboy  companions,  "  we  can  frighten  this 
gang  out  of  the  country  in  another  sleep.  OKI 
Hatch  has  assured  them  a  thousand  times  that 
if  he  should  ever  be  killed  by  his  band  he 
would  come  back  when  they  slept  and  blind 
them  and  tear  out  their  tongues.  They  believe 
this,"  he  went  on,  "and  if  we  can  cause  old 
Hatch  to  move  about  some,  they  will  know  he  's 
after  them  and  fly  the  country." 

The  gang  would  camj),  the  half-breed  argued, 
near  the  springs, "  Hoss-Shoot-Em  "  springs,  they 
are  called,  because  a  crazy  Indian  camped  there 
for  weeks  and  shot  all  the  horses,  wild  and 
tame,  that  came  there  Lo  drink.  He  fancied 
that  horses  were  evil  spirits,  and  as  the  Indians 
never  kill  a  person  who  is  vialade  de  tcie,  Hoss- 


I 


30 


FA' ox  TIE  a  S  TOKII.S 


Slioot- I'!in  was  wA  inolcslrd  iiiilil  the  cowboys 
came  an<l  killed  him  off;  then  the  springs  took 
his  nnmc. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark  the  cowboys  uncov- 
ered oUl  Hatch,  carried  him  away  and  propped 
his  lifeless  body  up  by  the  sjjrings  ;  and  when 
the  Red  liand  came  down  to  water  their  horses 
they  found  the  dead  leader  sitting  there  in  the 
moonlight,  with  his  ritle  resting  across  his  la]). 
"See,"  said  tiie  young  leader,  "  he  comes  silent 
like  the  lizard,  watches  in  the  night  like  an  owl, 
and  when  the  time  comes  he  will  strike  like  the 
rattlesnake  —  wuh  !  "  And  the  gang  wheeled 
about  and  galloped  back  to  the  hills. 

Superstitious  as  they  were,  all  these  Indians 
were  not  cowards,  and  when  daylight  came  they 
determined  to  revisit  the  springs,  for  they  were 
famished  for  water,  and  so  were  their  horses. 
It  took  them  some  time  to  work  up  nerve 
enough  to  approach  the  springs,  but  the  horses, 
being  almost  crazed  by  thirst,  helped  them, 
and  in  time  the  riders  drank  as  the  other  ani- 
mals had  done.  They  now  concluded,  while 
they  were  there,  that  it  would  be  a  good  scheme 
to  build  a  fire  and  cremate  old  Hatch,  to  stop 
his  travelling  about  by  night. 


:^ 


"/xyr.v  rix'  /'.»/  /'A/'/.K/.i/.h'" 


3' 


cowboys 
ngs  took 

s  iinrov- 
proppc'il 
md  wlicn 
•ir  horses 
;rc  ill  iIk* 
s  his  lap. 
ncs  silent 
e  an  owl, 
c  like  the 
;  wliccled 

.^  Indians 

;ame  ihcy 

he\'  were 

horses. 

p   ner\'c 

le  horses, 

d   them, 

ther  ani- 

d,  while 

d  scheme 

,  to  stop 


Ilatch-a-Kaw-Kaw  made  one  objection  to 
this.  They  must  first  cut  off  the  old  man's 
iiead.  '1  lie  rest  they  might  burn,  but  not  the 
head.     And  it  was  so  ordered. 

When  the  body  had  been  burned  and  the 
head  buried  the  band  went  away  and  were 
troubled  no  more  by  the  dead  chief.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  cattle  men  were  made  aware 
that  young  Match  was  doing  br.siness  at  tiie 
old  stand,  and  they  set  about  to  finil  out  the  last 
resting-i)lace  of  the  dead  chief.  Upon  visiting 
the  springs  they  found  old  Hatch's  head,  which 
the  coyotes  had  unearthed  and  picked  clean. 

"If  there  is  any  one  thing  that  will  scare 
them  t(j  death,"  said  the  half-breed,  "  it  's  tiie 
sight  of  paper-talk  from  the  dead."  When  one 
of  the  cowboys  had  dug  up  an  envelope  with 
writing  on  it,  the  half-breeil  took  the  head  of 
his  former  chief,  hung  it  upon  a  cedar  snag 
tiiat  stood  close  by  the  trail  along  which  the 
robbers  must  come  to  tiie  springs,  rolled  the 
envelope  up  and  stuck  it  into  old  Hatch's  eyes. 

That  night  when  the  gang  came  down  the 
trail  they  found  the  grinning  face  of  old  Hatch 
on  the  cedar  snag,  and  stopped.     One  daring 


J 


32 


FRONTIER   STORIES 


young  redskin  began  to  ride  in  a  circle  round 
the  cedar,  coming  nearer  and  nearer  at  each 
turn,  but  when  he  saw  the  paper  he  stopped. 
If  it  were  blank  white  paper,  as  it  seemed  to 
be,  there  was  no  harm  in  it ;  so  the  daring  red- 
skin snatched  the  envelope  and  galloped  back 
to  the  gang. 

"  Paper  talk,"  said  the  chief,  as  he  unfolded 
the  envelope  and  hurriedly  handed  it  back  to 
the  Indian  who  had  brought  it. 

"What  him  say?  "  asked  the  chief. 

"  Me  no  sabbe,"  said  the  Ute,  eying  the 
envelope.  "  Ony  Run-a-way  Bill,  him  sabbe 
paper- talk — me  fin'  um  Bill,"  and  before  an 
objection  could  be  offered  the  young  robber 
drove  his  heel  hr  xl  against  his  pony  and  gal- 
loped away  in  the  direction  of  the  ranch  where 
the  half-breed  wc.j  employed. 

It  was  daylight  when  the  Indian  reached  the 
ranch,  and  when  he  saw  the  half-breed  ride  to 
the  range  he  rode  after  him.  \\'hen  they  were 
far  in  the  hills  the  Indian  galloped  up  to  the 
half-breed,  holding  out  the  paper. 

''See,  Bill,  see!"  he  cried,  shaking  the 
envelope;  "me  fin  'um  paper  talk,  old  Hatch's 


^ 


I 


"/XJl/.V  FL\"    l/.M  r.\rr.R-T.\LK'' 


J  J 


le  round 
at  each 
stopped, 
jmed  to 
ing  red- 
ed back 

infolded 
back  to 


nng  the 
(1  sabbe 
?fore  an 
robber 
ind  gal- 
h  where 

hed  the 

ride  to 

ey  were 

to  the 

ng    the 
latch's 


eye,  devil,  spider.  Lill,  what  he  say? — (juick, 
nhat  he  say?  " 

The  half-breed  took  the  paper  and  pretended 
to  read,  then  he  opened  his  mouth  wide  and 
glanced  about  hurriedly. 

"  Quick,  Bill  !  quick  !  "  urged  the  Indian, 
grasping  the  arm  of  his  companion.  **  What 
'e  say?" 

"One  more  sleep,"  began  the  cowboy,  look- 
ing at  the  envelope,  "  an'  old  Hatch  come  back 
an'  put  out  your  eyes,  an'  pull  out  —  " 

"  Say,  Bill,  how  many  sleep  he  make  um 
paper-talk?  " 

"  Oh,  me  no  sabbe.  Mebby  so  one  moon, 
mebby  so  half-moon." 

"  Spider  Bill  !  "  cried  the  Ute,  filled  with 
terror,  "  mabby  so  one  sleep  —  uh  !  devil ! 
hell !  "  and  the  Indian  lay  down  close  to  the 
neck  of  his  cayuse  and  dashc  \  away  for  the 
springs. 

When  he  had  told  the  story  of  the  paper-talk, 
and  what  it  said,  the  '.-Mng  put  clubs  to  their 
horses  and  miles  between  them  and  Moss- 
Shoot- Em,  and  from  that  day  the  band  of  Red 
Robbers  has  kept  clear  of  the  San  Juan. 


li 


i 


a  g>calp  J?or  a  S)calp 


■I 


I 


J 


A   SCALP    FOR   A   SCALP. 


"S 


EE  that  old  Cottonwood  back  of  the 
roundhouse?"  asked  the  superintend- 
ent as  the  car  crashed  by  a  small  station  far 
out  on  the  plains.     I  saw  the  Uee. 

"Keep  that  in  mind,"  said  my  friend,  "and 
I  '11  tell  you  a  story  —  it  ends  at  that  tree." 

The  light  train  was  now  swinging  around  the 
long  curves  by  the  banks  of  a  slowly  running 
river;  the  otficial  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  put  his 
feet  up  in  an  empty  chair,  and  told  the  story : 

"A  band  of  bad  Indians,  under  the  ferocious 
Bear  Foot,  had  been  threatening  us  for  three 
days.  The  scouts  had  scarcely  slept  for  as 
many  nights,  and  at  dawn  of  the  fourth  morn- 
ing trouble  commenced.  The  Pawnees,  who 
were  on  picket  duty  under  government  pay, 
were  as  wily  as  the  Sioux,  who  were  planning 
the  capture  of  our  little  station.  When  the 
enemy  had  crept  up  almost  into  our  camp, 
keeping  under  the  bank  of  the  river,  they  were 


o 


1         1 


38 


/■•A'O.V  riER  S  T( )K//-:s 


'   I 


detected  by  the  trained  ear  of  the  red  .outs. 
The  captain  in  command  of  the  government 
forces  was  slow  to  beheve  that  the  river  which 
ran  past  the  roundhouse  was  Hterally  aHve  with 
Sioux,  but  he  knew  the  scout  was  too  sly  to 
advise  an  attack  that  was  unnecessary. 

"  If  the  Sioux  were  actually  creeping  up  in 
the  darkness,  under  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
it  was  easy  to  guess  the  object.  When  they 
were  there  in  sufficient  numbers  they  would 
swarm  out  upon  us  like  red  nnts,  before  the 
drowsy  soldiers  could  get  to  their  feet. 

"The  scout  and  the  captain  crept  close  to 
the  river  and  lay  upon  the  ground  listening  for 
any  sound  that  might  be  made  by  the  crawling 
Sioux.  Occasionally  they  could  hear  a  shuf- 
fling, scuffling  sound,  and  now  and  then  a 
low  'kerplunk'  as  a  pebble  rolled  down  the 
bank  and  fell  into  the  water.  In  a  little  while 
the  captain  had  become  convinced  that  there 
were  Indians  in  the  river.  How  many,  he 
could  not  tell,  but  he  knew  that  Bear  Foot 
would  not  come  alone. 

"  The  scouts  were  now  awakened  and  lined 
up  near  the  roundhouse,  between  the  track  and 


A    SCALP  Fim   A    SC\LP 


39 


the  river.  We  had  fifty  men,  mostly  Pawnees, 
and  they  were  now  placed  ten  feet  apart,  so 
that  we  covered  about  five  hundred  feet  of  the 
river.  The  captain  passed  along  the  line 
and  apprised  the  men  of  the  danger.  At  the 
flash  of  a  bull's-eye  lamp  in  the  roundhouse  the 
men  were  to  fall  down  and  crawl  up  to  within 
ten  yards  of  the  stream  and  lie  quiet  until 
dawn,  unless  the  Sioux  came  out  before  that 
time.  They  had  not  been  waiting  ten  minutes 
when  a  reef  of  feathers  showed  up  along  the 
bank.  Instantly  every  one  of  the  scouts  lev- 
elled his  gun  at  the  Sioux,  who,  unable  to  see 
the  soldiers,  poised  upon  the  edge  of  the  bank 
to  listen.  The  captain  knew  that  his  men  had 
their  fingers  upon  the  triggers,  and  the  first 
warning  the  Sioux  had  was  the  officer's  com- 
mand to  his  men  to  fire.  Before  the  Sioux 
could  gain  their  feet,  or  even  drop  behind  the 
bank,  the  scouts  blazed  away.  A  dozen  or 
more  Indians  rolled  down  into  the  river,  but 
Bear  Foot  knew  that  we  had  but  a  handful  of 
men,  while  he  had  hundreds.  The  sound  of 
our  rifles  was  still  echoing  in  the  grove  down 
the  river  when  the   bank  bristled  again   with 


'  II 


A 


*j 


I 


40 


I-RO.VriER  STORIES 


redskins.  There  was  no  need  for  the  captain 
to  order  his  men  to  fire  now  —  the  Pawnee 
scouts  were  hot  stuff.  They  hated  tlie  Sioux 
as  bitterly  as  it  is  possible  for  any  human 
being  to  hate  another,  —  presuming,  of  course, 
that  Indians  are  human,  —  and  instantly  they 
let  go  again.  The  line  of  heads  above  the 
bank  seemed  to  waver,  but  a  moment  later 
they  reappeared  ten  times  as  many  as  before. 

"  The  captain  of  the  scouts  saw  at  a  glance 
that  at  the  rate  they  were  now  coming  from  the 
river  the  Sioux  would  soon  outnumber  his  force 
ten  to  one.  The  scouts  at  the  beginning  had 
a  decided  advantage  over  the  attacking  party, 
and  the  officer  determined  to  hold  it. 

"They  did  not  fight  Indians  with  maps  and 
charts,  and  the  officers  commanding  the  scouts 
rarely  had  the  pleasure  of  overlooking  a  battle 
through  a  field -glass  from  the  summit  of  a  far- 
off  hill.  A  man's  head  had  to  work  rapidly, 
and  his  hands  as  well,  and  sometimes  his  feet. 
The  Sioux  fought  close  in,  as  the  Romans 
fought,  and  the  conflict  was  usually  short  and 
decisive. 

"  Seeing  the  Sioux  determined  and  desperate, 


I 


li 


/I    SCALr  J-VK   A    SCI/./' 


41 


the  captain  ordcrcil  liis  incii  to  cluugc,  aiul, 
leaping  to  their  feet,  the  scouts  advanced  at  a 
run,  firing  as  they  went.  Many  of  the  warriors 
were  swept  back  by  the  ciiarge,  but  others 
came  up  out  of  the  dark  river  to  take  tiieir 
places.  Our  men  rushed  right  upon  the  bank 
of  the  stream,  firing  the  lead  into  the  Sioux  as 
they  came  swarming  up  from  the  river. 

''  When  the  scouts  had  emptied  their  rifles 
and  pistols  they  clubbed  their  guns.  Many  of 
the  Sioux  were  now  gaining  the  level  ground 
above  the  bank  where  the  fight  was  raging. 
Only  the  great  advantage  our  men  held  — 
being  able  to  engage  the  Sioux  before  they 
could  get  to  their  feet  or  use  their  guns  — gave 
us  hope.  But,  as  the  enemy  grew  still  more 
numerous  wit'i  each  passing  moment,  the 
scouts  realize!  that  the  struggle  must  be  short 
and  bloody,  and  they  fought  with  the  despera- 
tion of  men  making  a  last  stand  at  the  door 
of  death. 

"  Day  was  dawning  rapidly  now,  and  the 
•scouts,  observing  that  the  stream  of  Sioux  was 
pouring  into  the  centre  of  our  line,  and  that 
the   extreme    right  and   left    had    little   to   do, 


F/WX TIER   S  TOIULS 


M 


began  to  close  up.  'I'liey  had  been  in  so 
nimiy  (lose  fights  that  the  men  secnied,  when 
once  set  to  work,  to  know  just  what  to  do, 
and  they  moved  like  dancers  who  go  through 
the  different  figures  of  a  (juadrille  without 
prompting. 

*'  A  half-circle  thrown  about  one  hundred 
feet  from  the  bank  of  the  stream  would  now 
inclose  the  combatants,  so  close  and  desper- 
ate was  the  fighting.  In  a  little  while  the 
scouts  had  formed  a  solid  line  along  the  bank, 
while  those  not  engaged  there  fought,  and  usu- 
ally finished,  the  Sioux  who  succeeded  in  gain- 
ing the  level  i)lain.  Some  were  slaughtered 
and  others  were  forced  to  leap  the  bank  and 
rejoin  their  comrades ;  seeing  which  the  wnr- 
riors  hurrying  up  the  river  became  discouraged 
and  began  to  retreat.  By  this  time  it  was  so 
light  that  we  could  see  the  desperate  faces 
of  the  savages.  It  was  a  novel  sight  to  me, 
for  I  did  not  belong  at  the  front.  I  had 
arrived  only  the  day  before  with  a  train- 
load  of  material,  and  had  persuaded  the  cap- 
tain, whom  I  knew  very  well,  to  allow  me  to 
remain  near   him   during  the  exv°rcises,  never 


\. 


i! 


//    ^CAI.r  FOR  A    SCAL/' 


4:> 


dreaming  that  I  miglU  he  railed  upon  to  fi^^ht 
for  my  life.  I  did  not  rush  frantically  into  the 
fiercest  of  the  fight,  nor  did  I  run  away.  I 
had  asked  to  be  allowed  to  take  part,  and  so 
stood  my  ground  and  diil  what  I  could.  But 
now,  after  the  chill  of  the  first  fright  had 
passed  away,  I  began  to  study  the  faces  of 
these  desperate  red  men,  who,  having  ceased 
yelling,  were  working  with  wonderful  coolness 
to  wipe  each  other  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Despite  the  fact  that  it  was  awfully  interesting, 
there  was  something  touchingly  sad  in  the 
spectacle  of  these  red  desperadoes,  \\\\o  were 
born  brothers,  and  who  ought  to  have  been 
fighting  shoulder  to  shoulder,  if  there  was 
fighting  to  do,  closing  in  upon  one  another 
in  a  desperate  struggle  that  could  end  only 
in  death. 

"  As  I  stood  watching  a  big  Siou\  who  was 
fighting  three  scouts  single-handed,  and  who, 
up  to  this  point,  seemed  not  only  to  hokl  his 
own,  but  who  had  killed  one  of  his  assailants,  I 
observed  a  Pawnee  dar  past  me.  Turning  to 
look  where  he  ran,  I  saw  that  he  was  engaging 
a  Sioux  who  must  have  been  stealing  up  be- 


M 


'!:     Ii 


I         I 


\\ 


FRO.VriER  SrORfl-S 


liiiid  inc.  As  the  men  came  toL^'tthcr  tlicy 
.appeared,  by  mutual  agreement,  to  drop  tlieir 
guns  and  pi^^tols  and  pgree  u|)on  knives  as 
tlie  proper  weapons  with  wi.ieh  to  settle  their 
differences.  They  came  at  carh  other  half 
croucliing,  but  when  not  more  than  six  feet 
separated  them  tlicy  paused  and  glared  at 
each  other  like  wild  beasts.  Then  they  flew 
at  each  other,  their  knives  clashed,  and  tliey 
bounded  back  as  if  they  had  been  rubber 
balls.  Without  taking  time  to  breathe,  they 
were  at  it  again,  and  mixed  up  so  that  I  could 
not  say  which  was  which.  V'  ry  naturally  I 
wanted  to  help  the  Pawnee,  who  by  his  bravery 
had  saved  my  life,  but  I  dared  not  fire,  or 
even  strike  with  my  clubbed  rifle,  for  fear  of 
hitting  the  scout.  Perhaps  the  most  I  had 
ever  done  for  him  was  to  give  him  a  cigar  or 
some  very  bad  tobacco,  but  he  had  heroically 
taken  my  place  in  a  hot  engagement,  in  which 
I  would  not  have  lasted  longer  than  a  snov/- 
flake  would  last  in  the  fire-box  of  the  49. 
When  these  savage  souls  had  been  leap- 
ing and  slashing  at  each  other  for  forty  or 
fifty    seconds,    they   were    both    covered    with 


i 


( 


r   they 
)  tlicir 
vcs    as 
B  their 
jr   luvlf 
ix    feet 
red    at 
:y   flew 
id  they 
rubber 
e,  they 
I  could 
trally    I 
bravery 
Cue,   or 
fear  of 
I   had 
:igar  or 
|roically 
wliicb 
snov/- 
|he    49- 
leap- 
pny  or 
with 


A  sc^iLr  roR  A  sc.ir.i' 


45 


blood,  but,  so  far  as  fierceness  went,  thi'y 
were  siill  uiulauiUt'd.  The  last  of  the  invad- 
ing army  hail  been  driven  back  to  tije  river. 
The  scouts  were  running  along  the  bank, 
firing  at  the  dark  forms  of  the  Sioux  wiio  were 
swimming  ilown  stri-am  to  get  out  of  niiiLje  of 
the  deadly  rilles  of  the    Pawnees. 

"M)(jn't  stand  so  close,'  said  a  voire  from 
behind  me,  and  at  the  same  time  the  (Mptain 
took  hold  of  my  arm  and  pulled  me  back.  A 
iialf-do/en  scouts  now  joined  us,  but  no  one 
offered  to  help  the  Pawnee,  whose  {xvm  and 
arms  were  reeking  with  bloou.  As  they  fought 
the  men  kei)t  working  away  from  the  river  and 
l(jward  the  roundhoase.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  Sioux  nad  the  best  of  the  fight,  and  I  said 
so  to  the  captahi,  but  he  refused  to  interfere 
or  to  believe  that  any  living  Indian  could  kill 
this  Pawnee  in  a  sincledianded  encrajiement. 


h"o^ 


"  How  men  could  lose  so  much  blood  and 
still  fight  so  fiercely  was  a  mystery  to  me,  for 
they  seemed  to  grow  stronger  rather  than 
weaker  as  the  battle  jirogressed. 

*'  Without  noticing  where  I  went,  I  had  been 
walking  backward  since  the  fight  began,  and  of 


I      ) 


lii 


46 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


a  sudden,  fiiKlin*,'  it  necessary  lu  step  quickly  to 


clear  of  the  ki 


back  sti 


k  aganist 

the  Cottonwood  tree.  Before  I  had  time  to 
slip  away,  the  Sioux,  to  escape  the  Pawnee, 
leaped  back  against  me.  The  moment  he  felt 
himself  come  in  contact  with  me  he  dug  back 
with  his  bloody  knife,  which  passed  between 
my  right  arm  and  my  body  and  stuck  fast  in 
the  tree.  The  Pawnee  was  quick  to  take 
advantage  of  the  situation  and  k  aped  upon 
his  antagonist,  but  the  wily  Sioux  had  not 
tai'.en  his  eye  from  the  scout,  and  now,  twist- 
ing his  knife  froui  the  cottonwood,  he  made  a 
last  desperate  effort  to  slay  him.  For  a  moment 
the  men  were  so  mixed  up  that  it  was  utterly 
impossible  to  tell  one  from  the  other.  They 
were  on  the  ground,  up  again,  now  rolling  over 
er.ch  other  and  then  leaping  high  into  the  air. 
I'or  a  moment  they  seemed  to  be  kneeling, 
clasp'.  d  in  each  other's  arms.  Now  the  left 
hand  of  the  Sioux  went  to  the  Pawnee's  hair 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  scout  reached  for 
the  scalp  of  his  foe.  There  was  a  swift  flash 
of  steel  and  the  two  men  leaped  to  their  feet. 
They  glared  at  each  other ;  each  at  the  bloody 


|i^ 


\ 


I 


A    SCALP  FOR   A    SCALP 


47 


kly  to 
gainst 
■ne  to 
Lwnee, 

be  felt 
I  back 
jtween 
fast  in 
)    take 
upon 
id    not 
,  twist- 
nade  a 
lomcnt 
utterly 
They 
ifT  over 
he  air. 
leeling, 
ie    left 
s  hair 
ed  for 
t  flash 
feet, 
blcjody 


trophy  the  other  held,  and  a  mighty  change 
came  over  the  hideous  features  of  the  panting 
savages. 

"The  look  of  ferocious  hatred  disappeared 
at  once,  and  in  its  place  there  came  an  expres- 
sion of  utter  hopelessness  and  indescribable 
despair. 

"  Of  course  they  could  fight  no  more,  for 
each  now  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  dead  ; 
for,  in  the  eyes  of  these  Indians,  to  lose  one's 
scalp  was  to  lose  one's  life.  As  if  moved  by 
a  single  impulse  they  droppeu  lmcIi  his  scalp 
and  weapons,  put  their  heads  down,  and  started 
for  the  river,  l^ach  seemed  bent  u])on  reach- 
ing the  bank  before  his  dreadful  companion 
could  throw  his  hideous  form  into  the  stream, 
but  they  were  not  less  equally  matched  in 
death  than  they  had  been  in  life,  and  so  it 
came  out,  at  the  end  of  it  all,  that  they  leaped 
from  the  high  bank  together  and  went  down 
into  the  dark  water." 


il 


•) 


\. 


0  I. 


i 


&l(Unng  tljc  OTilD  )15ull 


(i 


f 


T 


V' 


I    r 


•■I 


ll 


I 


t      ) 


i      I 


^ 


SLAYING  THE   WILD    BULL. 


'\\ 


■i 

•I 


"  T  WAS  on  the  plains  in  the  sixties,"  said  the 
A  short  man,  draining  his  glass  of  ordinary. 
He  did  not  look  over  thirty,  but  he  must  have 
been  more  than  forty,-  for  the  tales  he  told 
carried  so  much  of  the  color  of  the  country  that 
one  found  it  difficult  to  disbelieve  them.  The 
Spanish  gentleman  had  just  finished  an  interest- 
ing account  of  a  bull-fight  which  had  taken 
place  at  Barcelona,  in  which,  by  some  accident, 
the  buU  had  had  the  best  of  it. 

"  I  saw  a  bull-fight  on  the  plains  once,"  said 
the  short  man,  laying  his  tools  down,  "  right 
out  in  the  open,  with  nothing  to  hide  behind, 
'  nowhere  to  stand  but  on,  and  nowhere  to  fall 
but  off,'  as  the  deceased  bard  of  St.  Joe  would 
say. 

"  It  was  while  we  were  locating  the  line  of 
the  Union  Pacific  —  simply  driving  across 
the    country    and    making    observations.      A 


..'■4 


. 


11 


«1, 


52 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


cou[)le  of  Sioux  fell  in  with  our  party  and  were 
riding  along  looking  for  a  chance  to  steal  some- 
thing, when  we  came  suddenly  upon  a  small 
herd  of  buffalo.  The  rear  guard,  a  sturdy  old 
bull,  was  feeding  along  in  a  sag  between  the 
sand-hills,  and  the  wind,  blowing  from  him  to 
us,  prevented  him  from  scenting  our  party  until 
the  two  Indians  dashed  by,  cutting  him  off 
from  the  main  herd.  Lowering  his  head  the 
great  brute  bounded  away  up  the  little  hill,  at 
the  top  of  which  the  two  Sioux  sat  waiting  to 
receive  him.  Each  of  the  Indians  carried  a 
rifle,  but  to  our  surprise  they  were  left  hanging 
at  the  saddles.  The  bull  made  straight  for  one 
of  the  horses,  but  just  as  he  seemed  about  to 
collide  the  broncho  sprang  to  one  side  and  an 
arrow  from  the  Indian's  bow  was  driven  deep 
into  the  back  of  the  bull.  We  expected  the 
animal  to  bolt  now,  but  he  was  enraged  and 
scorned  to  escape.  Turning,  he  came  straight 
for  the  other  Sioux,  only  to  plough  the  air  close 
—  alarmingly  close  —  to  the  agile  horse,  which 
carried  his  rider  safely  to  the  rear.  The  first 
Indian  had  by  this  time  fixed  another  arrow, 
and  when  the  charge  was  made  planted  it  deep 


SLA  i7X(;    THE    WILD   DULL 


53 


behind  the  bull's  left  shoulder.  The  fight  had 
by  this  time  become  so  exciting  that  our  driver, 
forgetting  the  danger,  had  ilriven  up  to  witiiin 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  scene  of  the  battle. 
Having  bounded  by  one  of  the  Indians,  carry 
ing  another  arrow  away  with  him,  the  infuriated 
animal  caught  sight  of  our  wagon  and  drove 
straight  for  us.  It  was  like  standing  on  the 
track  in  front  of  a  locomotive,  and  everv  man 
of  us,  realizing  the  great  danger,  was  seized  with 
fear  that  almost  froze  his  blood.  The  driver 
was  so  filled  with  terror  that  he  made  no 
attempt  to  avoid  the  collision,  which,  from  the 
moment  the  bull  passed  the  Indian,  seemed 
inevitable.  On  he  came,  snorting  like  a  snow- 
plough  and  looking  as  formidable,  and  not  one 
of  us  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to  reach  for 
a  rifle;  we  were  too  badly  scared  to  move, 
liut  not  so  with  the  Sioux  ;  seeing  our  danger 
the  brave  fellows  turned  their  horses  and  came 
galloping  past  the  bull,  one  on  either  side,  and 
as  they  passed  him  each  drove  an  arrow  into 


tht 


m 


:id    brute.     These   new   wuunds   seemed 


only   to   increase    his    rage,   and   on   he   came, 
tearing  toward  us  j  but  before  they  reached  our 


■f 


i 


I' 


'     ( 


54 


FKOXn/.K   STOK/F.S 


wagon  the  Indians  whirled  their  horses,  and 
with  arrows  drawn  stood  between  us  and  tl\e 
a[)proaching  buffalo.  The  Iiorscs  had  barely 
time  to  turn  before  the  bull  was  upon  them. 
One  of  the  bronchos  sprang  away,  his  rider 
emitting  a  wild  yell  as  he  sent  another  arrow 
into  the  bleeding  buffalo.  The  other  Indian 
was  not  so  fortunate.  His  horse  failed  to  clear, 
and  one  of  the  bull's  horns  caught  in  its  side 
just  behind  the  girth  and  ploughed  a  great 
furrow  back  to  the  flank. 

"  The  buffalo  appeared  to  appreciate  the 
advantage  of  this  thrust,  and  at  once  turned 
and  charged  the  unhorsed  Sioux.  The  Indian 
might  have  ended  the  fight  by  taking  up  his 
rifle,  but  he  did  not.  Standing  erect  at  the  side 
of  his  dead  horse  he  faced  the  rapidly  advanc- 
ing foe,  and  sent  an  arrow  deep  under  the 
shoulder-blade.  As  the  arrow  left  the  string 
the  Indian  dropped  beside  the  body  of  his 
horse,  and  the  buffalo  passed  over  him  without 
doing  any  damage.  Now  the  mounted  Sioux 
claimed  the  attention  of  the  wounded  bull,  and 
again  the  Sioux  on  foot.  P.y  this  time  the 
buffLilo  fairly  bristled  with  arrows  and  resembled 


i" 


SL  A 1 7X< ;  Til  I:  nil.  n  ii  i  v.  l 


55 


a  huge  porcupine.  We  couUl  sec  that  the  ani- 
mal was  getting  groggy,  as  they  say  of  i)ri/e- 
fighters,  but  his  sand  seemed  never  to  leave 
him.  With  a  roar  that  would  send  a  chill  (U)wn 
your  spine,  with  blood  spurting  from  his  nostrils, 
he  would  drive  like  a  hurricane  at  his  tormen- 
tors, who,  witli  the  exception  noted,  seemed  to 
avoid  him  by  about  the  breadth  of  two  hairs. 
When  they  had  fought  five  minutes  the  earth 
for  the  space  of  fifty  feet  about  resembled  a 
ploughed  field.  The  one  living  hcjrse  was 
flecked  with  the  froth  of  battle,  anil,  like  the 
buffalo,  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  exhaus- 
tion. As  the  action  of  tlie  bull  grew  slower,  the 
horseless  Sioux  f  )ught  furtluT  from  cover.  At 
times  he  would  stand  forth  in  \\v.\  very  face  of 
his  furious  adversary,  and  after  discharging  his 
arrow  leap  to  one  side  while  the  monster 
brushed  by. 

"We  were  suri)rised  at  the  beginning  of 
the  fight  to  see  the  Indians  using  their  bows, 
allowing  their  rifles  to  remain  at  the  saddle,  but 
our  surprise  was  still  greater  now,  when  the 
mounted  Sioux  turned  his  horse  about  and  left 
the  field,  leaving  his  companion  to  fight  it  out 


, 


\ 


f 


% 


•'    u 


f, 


5^' 


f'/^0.\'  Tl  E  R   S  TORIES 


singlc-handi'd.  'I'hc  l)iill  seemed  to  take  new 
eoiirago,  finding  but  o., ?  (>f  his  assailants,  and 
for  a  time  fought  dcspei  .(:ly.  Of  a  sudden  he 
slojipcd,  facing  the  Indian.  With  his  front  feet 
far  apart  he  apjjeared  to  rest,  perhaps  to  collect 
his  fast  failing  strength.     He  was  an  object  now 


to 


ind,  ahh 


'  ( 


excite  one  s  pit; .  . 
unchristian,  I  almost  wishe<l  he  could  win,  for 
in  those  days  there  were  nearly  as  many  Indians 
as  Iniffaloes,  and  they  were  infinitely  more 
dangerous. 

**  An  arrow  had  destroyed  one  of  the  bull's 
eyes,  blood  was  rushing  fn^m  his  mouth  antl 
nostrils  and  trickling  from  a  score  of  wounils 
along  his  spine.  His  life  blood  was  ebbing 
away,  and  now,  seeing  his  tormentor  standing 
before  him,  he  made  a  last  desperate  effort  to 
reach  him.  \\\\\\  a  mighty  roar  the  bleeding 
brute  bounded  forward,  and  it  seemed  to  us 
that  he  had  regained  all  his  lost  strength,  for  he 
went  with  the  speed  and  force  of  an  express 
train.  The  daring  Sioux  drew  another  arrow 
and  let  it  drive  into  the  buffalo,  made  a  feint  of 
dodging  to  the  right,  and  then,  leaping  far  to 
the  left,  let  fly  another  arrow  as  the  baffled  bull 
went  bv. 


1''  k)|l 

"TX, 


w/X 


sLAVixi)  77//;  ;/'//./)  nrr.L 


57 


" 'I'lic  buftalo  w.is  by  this  time  nc  (ju,iinli'<l 
with  the  Siotix's  trirks,  nii<l  the  niojiicnt  he 
passed  the  Indian,  whirlctl  and  eanic  back  at 
his  adversary  with  renewed  vigor.  'I'lic  Sioux, 
surprised  i)<.rliai)s  l)y  tlie  suddi'uness  of  the 
cliarge,  leaned  baek,  stumbled,  and  nearly  Hll 
backward  over  the  body  of  his  dead  horse. 
l5i-fore  he  could  regain  his  feet  the  animal  was 
ui)on  him.  It  seemed  that  in  another  moment 
the  Indian  would  be  t(jssed  high  in  the  air,  but 
the  new  lease  of  life  th(>  bull  had  was  out,  and 
in  that  moment  in  which  we  had  looked  to  sec 
him  triumph,  the  great  beast  stumbled  and  fell 
in  a  heap  at  the  Sioux's  feet." 


m 


'g 


'ig 

us 
le 

fess 

iJW 

of 
to 
ull 


i 


!■ 


i'T 


«> 


fill 


'1 


}< 


r  '■ 


!■    'i'* 


^''       ) 


If 


^^ 


r^ 


f< 


1  '  <C' 


l-ViUcv  tan 


meammfi 


ii! 


I) '' ' 


.1 


J.     ;i 


•i 


III. 


!    - 
\ 


VALLEY  TAN. 


I  f 

r,    '    I 

i 


ITIGII  up  ill  the  Henry  Mountains  the 
L  Mormons  make  what  tlie  cowboys  call 
"  valley  tan,"  which  is  only  a  poetic  name  for 
very  bad  liquor.  In  these  high  lands  of  Utah 
live  Utes,  Piutes,  coyotes,  and  cowboys,  and 
here  and  there  in  a  narrow  vale,  you  see  the 
squat  cabin  of  a  settler.  Occasionally  a  wan- 
dering trapper  may  be  seen  walking  the  river 
(the  Lord  knows  what  he  trai)s),  stopping  at 
night  with  the  placer  miners  who  are  washing 
flour-gold  from  the  sands  of  the  Colorado. 
Sometimes  in  the  narrow  canons  you  meet 
strange  bands  of  men  who  only  nod  in  silence, 
glance  at  your  mount  and  trapi)ings,  and  pass 
peacefully  on  down  the  winding  trail.  Among 
these  bands  of  homeless  men  you  nearly  always 
see  men  with  dark  fiices,  Mexicans  and  Indians, 
with   enough    "  white    blood  "   to    make    them 


I.' 


> 

til' 


•  i 


1 


I 
1 


s» 


i  I  I 


I 


62 


J'KOXTIEK   STORIES 


ambitious,  and  enougli  red  to  make  them  kill 
a  man  for  a  new  saddle. 

Five  hundred  miles  of  wilderness  and  desert 
lay  between  these  hills  and  the  railway  strUon 
on  the  Green  River,  and  its  good  hiding  for 
desperadoes  and  outcasts,  who  have  burned  all 
the  bridges  between  them  and  civilization.  Ten 
years  ago  you  would  not  meet  a  man  in  a  day's 
travel  who  had  less  than  two  six-shooters  hang- 
ing to  him,  and  often  a  rifle  resting  lightly 
across  liis  saddle.  It  was  a  lone;  and  tiresome 
journey  across  the  desert  to  court,  and  so  the 
men  who  lived  down  there  in  the  wilds  had 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  setUing  any  little  differ- 
ences that  might  arise  with  a  pair  of  six- 
shooters.  Fortunately,  there  being  no  politics, 
very  little  religion,  and  no  women,  there  was 
not  much  to  quarrel  over;  so  the  disputes 
were  few  and  far  between.  It  was  so  at  least 
until  the  Mormons  began  brewing  "valley  tan," 
and  then  there  came  a  change.  Wherever  red 
liquor  runs,  blood  will  run.  A  small  moonlight 
distillery  can  create  more  crime  and  general 
disturbance  than  all  the  politicians  and  women 
in  a  whole  State.     These  litde  licpior  mills  were 


i 


I  I 


VALLEY   TAy 


63 


especially  deiroralizing  among  Indians,  who 
are  always  looking  for  something  that  will 
"  make  drunk  quick." 

A  couple  of  half-breeds,  who  had,  with  the 

help  of  a  rawhide  rope  and  a   branding  iron, 

* 

accumulated  a  bunch  of  cattle  on  the  San  Juan, 
traded  the  herd  for  a  small  gin-mill  at  the  head 
of  Windy  Gulch,  near  Tickabo  canon.  They 
made  whiskey,  under  the  guidance  of  a  Mexican 
expert,  regardless  of  the  laws  enacted  by  Con- 
gress for  the  regulation  of  the  liquor  business. 
Also  they  made  money  and  many  drunkards. 
By  and  by  the  revenue  department  got  wind, 
for  the  thing  had  begun  to  smell  to  Washington. 
A  couple  of  moonshine  detectives  went  after 
the  illicits,  and  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight 
found  themselves  in  the  wilds  of  the  Henry 
Mountains.  They  reached  Windy  Gulch  late 
in  the  afternoon  of  a  day  upon  which  both  the 
proprietors,  with  a  number  of  friends,  of  various 
shades  of  character  and  complexion,  had  im- 
bibed freely  of  the  raw  new  run.  One  of  the 
proprietors,  a  half-Ute,  and  one  of  the  guests, 
a  Piute,  had  quarrelled  and  emptied  their  re- 
volvers   without  setUing    the  difficulty.     When 


1 
if 


V- 


I 


' 


V 

.  ''I 


.1 


1 


nil 


) 


H 

ill  i: 


f\ 


A 


64 


/•'A'  OX  TIER   S  TOR  lES 


the  Piute  had  run  out  of  ammunition  he  liit 
the  still-man  witli  a  stone,  climbed  his  cayuse, 
and  galloped  away. 

Now  it  was  all  right  for  the  proprietor  of  a 
distillery  to  be  shot  at,  or  even  shot,  but  the 
slugging  of  a  man  with  a  rock  was  a  thing  an 
Indian  might  not  do  with  impunity.  The  still- 
man  was  desperate  and  all  his  companions 
were  indignant.  After  reloading  his  firearms 
the  still-man  mounted  a  cayuse  and  started 
after  the  insolent  Indian. 

A  little  way  down  the  gulch  the  fleeing  Piute 
met  a  cowboy,  who  supplied  him  with  car- 
tridges ;  and,  having  refilled  his  guns,  he  rode 
on  swiftly  down  the  trail. 

The  two  detectives,  riding  slowly  up  the 
canon,  heard  the  clatter  of  a  pony's  feet  upon 
the  stony  trail,  and  reining  their  horses  into  a 
side  canon  waited  the  coming  of  the  stranger. 
A  moment  later  they  saw  the  Indian  sailing 
past,  his  knees  cocked  high,  as  an  Aiabian 
rides,  but  with  his  heels  digging  vigorously  iiito 
the  flanks  of  his  thin  cayuse.  At  every  other 
jump  of  his  broncho  he  glanced  over  his 
shoulder    with    a    quick,    iutvous    glance,    and 


u\ 


VALLEY  TAN 


65 


wriggled  his  (juirt  constantly  above  the  curved 
back  of  his  half-wild  horse.  The  two  officers 
let  him  pass,  and  as  they  turned  to  ride  back 
to  the  trail  the  scar-faced  half-breed  came 
down  the  canon,  riding  like  the  wind,  but 
looking  straight  ahead.  Like  the  Piute  he  was 
wriggling  his  quirt  above  the  back  of  his  horse, 
but  he  was  making  good  time.  The  other 
Indian's  horse  was  thin  and  spent,  and  in  a 
little  while  the  still-man  would  overtake  the 
runaway  Indian  and  then  there  would  be 
trouble. 

The  detectives  saw  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  them  to  get  under  cover,  and  so  waited 
beside  the  trail  until  the  red  man  came  to  a 
siuldc ""'.  slop. 

"  Vou  see  um  Pilute?"  demanded  the  half- 
breed,  bringing  his  hand  down  over  his  face, 
smearing  it  with  blood. 

The  white  man  nodded. 

"  Me  Lute  —  him  Pilule  —  hit  um  lock.  Vou 
see  um  blood?"  and  he  swiped  his  smeared 
face  again. 

"  Yes,"  said  one  of  the  detectives.  "  You  see 
um  whisk-shop  up  gulch?  " 


\ 


I  ■_ 


i 


-1 


1 


66 


y  A't^A'  77/:' A'   .V I  OKIES 


"  Yes,  me  no  see  um,"  said  the  Indian. 
"  Damn  !  me  kill  um ;  "  and  driving  his  heels 
into  his  horse's  sides  he  dashed  away  down 
the  trail. 

Now  because  he  knew  the  other  man,  if  he 
followed,  would  overtake  him,  or  because  he 
wanted  to  fight,  or  because  he  was  crazy  drunk, 
the  Piute  had  stopped  a  little  way  down  the 
gulch,  and  when  his  pursuer  hove  in  sight, 
the  fight  began.  The  two  detectives,  hearing 
the  shooting,  trailed  back  and  saw  the  excite- 
ment. It  was  not  a  cause  in  which  a  white  man 
felt  called  upon  to  take  sides,  and  so  the  men, 
remaining  at  a  safe  distance,  watched  these  half- 
wild  Indians  sail  into  each  other.  When  they 
had  exchanged  a  few  shots,  and  each  had 
received  slight  wounds,  they  dismounted  and 
standing  beside  their  horses  aimed  deliberately, 
and  as  accurately  as  drunken  men  can,  at  each 
other.  When  one  six-shooter  had  been  emptied, 
another  was  pulled,  and  when  both  were  empty 
they  were  reloaded  with  what  skill  the  com- 
batants could  command.  Being  discouraged 
the  two  men  left  their  horses  and  walked  slowly 
toward   each    other,   firing   as    they   advanced. 


hi 


^41 
I 


l-ALLEV   TAX 


67 


The  Utc  fell,  and  the  other,  standing,  continued 
to  fire.  The  Ute  struggled  to  his  feet  and 
jidvanced,  firing  again.  The  two  Indians  finally 
came  face  to  face  in  the  narrow  trail,  and  neither 
sought  to  shield  himself  from  the  other's  mur- 
derous fire,  but  sought  only  to  slay  his  opponent. 
The  men  who  saw  the  fight  say  there  was  some- 
thing pathetic  in  the  picture  of  these  two-legged 
animals  walking  deliberately  to  death.  It  was 
not  brave,  it  was  beastly.  It  was  like  two 
vicious  dogs,  mad  with  the  smell  of  blood, 
devouring  each  other.  Again  the  Ute  went 
down,  and  a  moment  later  the  other  sank  to 
the  ground.  Now  they  rested  on  their  ellxiws 
and  gave  each  other  a  parting  shot.  The  two 
men  waited  for  some  moments  and  then  ap- 
proached the  battle  scene.  A  camp  robber 
was  screaming  on  a  cedar  bough  above  the 
prostrate  figures,  and  looking  into  the  distorted 
faces  of  the  Ute  and  Piute,  who  were  both 
dead. 

An  hour  later  the  U.  S.  officers  had  taken 
possession  of  the  moonshine  mill  and  the 
remaining  proprietor;  and  that  was  the  end  of 
tho  "  valley  tan  "  industry  at  Windy  Gulch. 


■ 


i 


V 


I)  • 


:! 


i'li 


li.' 


I 


3f|n  ti)t  Cpoapual 


(I 


I 


.'N   THE   HOSPITAL. 


WI'  were  in  the  hospital  together,  Wilson 
and  I,  —  in  the  bamc  ward.     I  was  ill 
from  the  effects  of  bucking  snow  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  he  had  been  hurt  in  a  collision  in  the 
Trinidad  yards.     He  was  the  travelling  engineer 
of  the  road,  and  while  he  was  asleep  in  Colonel 
kicker's  special,  a  standard-gauge  engine  had 
crashed  into  the  car  and  Wilson  had  had  his  rigl.^ 
leg    broken   above   the    knee.     Dr.   O'Connor, 
the  chief  surgeon,   had   rigged  a  pulley  at  the 
foot  of  Wilson's  bed  and  was  pulling  his  leg. 
A  piece  of  bell-cord  was  fastened   to   the  pa- 
tient's foot,  passed  over  the  pulley,  and  loaded 
down  with  as  many  weights  as  the  house  sur- 
geon  considered    necessary.     Wilson   was  fifty 
years    old    and    the    process    of  knitting   the 
broken  bone  together  was   extremely  painful. 
It  grew  so  serious  at  one  time   that  we   were 
alarmed.     The  sufferer  was  thrown  into  a  fever 
and   talked  *'  out  of  his  head."     Away  in  the 


72 


J-ROXriJCR  SrOKlES 


,  ft 


•v 


i 


':v 


niglit  when  the  nurse  nodded  over  against  the 
wall,  Wilson,  delirious,  told  me  some  wonderful 
tales.  My  friend's  attendant  was  an  Italian 
who  seemed  to  rejoice  in  the  moans  of  the 
inmates  of  the  institution.  Sometimes  when 
the  place  was  still,  and  he  thought  I  was  asleep, 
he  would  hang  an  extra  weight  on  Wilson's 
string,  and  then  when  the  patient's  moans  had 
put  the  Mafia  to  sleep,  I  would  steal  over  and 
take  it  off.  Often  since,  when  I  have  seen 
Wilson  limping,  I  have  thought  seriously  on 
what  I  did  ;  for  the  more  weight  the  patient 
bore,  the  longer  his  leg  would  be,  and  it  was 
full  half  an  inch  short  when  he  was  able  to 
walk  ;  but  it  was  hard  for  me  to  see  him  suffer 
so  and  to  hear  him  moan. 

"  Frank,"  said  I  one  day  when  he  was  able 
to  sit  up  in  bed,  "  you  used  to  tell  the  best 
Indian  stories  when  the  fever  was  high  that  I 
ever  heard." 

When  I  had  retold  some  of  them  to  him,  he 
took  off  his  glasses  and  declared  that  what  he 
had  said  in  his  delirium  was  wholly  true.  He 
had  been  the  engineer  on  the  construction 
train  which  laid  the  track  of  the  Kansas  Pa- 


li''l 


tN   THE  HOSriTAL 


U 


cific.  **  I  have  often  run  fitly  miles  wiiliout 
l)oing  out  of  sight  of  buffalo,"  s.iid  he.  '•  I 
have  seen  a  single  band  that  made  a  proces- 
sion so  long  that  you  could  sec  neither  the 
head  nor  the  tail  of  the  herd.  'I'hcy  were 
interesting,  but  not  nearly  so  much  so  as  the 
Indians  were.  I  remember  one  morning  our 
conductor  took  a  ritle  and  went  out  to  shoot  a 
buffalo  for  breakfast.  Our  cam})  was  in  a 
little  valley,  along  one  side  of  which  ran  a  high 
chalk  bluff.  We  had  seen  no  Indians  for 
nearly  a  week,  and  so  were  getting  careless. 
The  conductor  was  stalking  a  herd,  hugging 
the  bluffs,  when  he  was  surprised  by  a  band  of 
Indians  who  began  to  shower  arrows  at  him 
from  the  top  of  the  wall.  He  must  have  seen 
that  they  could  not  descend  so  sleep  a  diff, 
bui  instead  of  retreating  across  the  open  vale 
out  of  the  reach  of  liieir  arrows,  he  sought 
refuge  under  the  bluff.  Here  for  a  time  he 
was  secure.  A  line  of  redskins  stood  ujion 
the  wall  ready  to  fill  his  back  with  arrows  the 
moment  he  started  to  lly,  while  others  with 
clubs,  tomahawks,  and  rocks  began  the  work  of 
crumbling  the   shelfdike  wall  away  in  order  to 


9 


i 


74 


FKONTJEK  Sf OKIES 


k    I 


'I 


•     ^! 


i.   '} 


I, 


reach  their  victim.  For  nearly  an  hour  the 
wild  yells  of  the  bloodthirsty  hair-lifters  filled 
his  ears  and  froze  his  blood.  At  first  the  fall- 
ing debris  dropped  some  feet  in  front  of  him, 
but  as  the  Indians  by  constant  stami)ing  and 
beating,  wore  the  projecting  shelf  away,  the 
broken  rock  began  to  pile  high  in  front  of 
him,  and  rolling  about  his  feet  threatened  to 
bury  him  alive.  Now  the  red  villains,  hanging 
over  the  wall,  began  to  send  arrows  at  him. 
The  cloud  of  dust  made  by  the  filling  rock 
and  dirt  made  it  impossible  for  the  conductor 
to  use  his  rifle  when  the  Indians  poked  their 
painted  faces  over  the  wall.  The  most  he 
could  do  was  to  discharge  his  rifle  at  random 
occasionally  to  show  them  that  he  was  still 
alive  and  fighting.  Almost  before  he  was 
aware  of  it  he  found  himself  a  prisoner.  The 
bits  of  rock  had  piled  up  about  his  feet  until 
he  found  it  impossible  to  move.  There  was 
nothing  now  to  hope  for,  as  he  knew  well  that 
his  tormentors  would  never  give  over  the  fight 
until  he  was  either  killed  by  an  arrov/  or  buried 
alive. 

"  When   an  hour  had  gone  by  and  he  did 


/.v  rni:  iiosriiAL 


75 


lid 


not  return  a  party  went  to  look  for  liim.  In  a 
little  while  we  came  within  siL;hl  of  the  band 
of  murtlerers  on  the  cliff  and  readily  guessed 
that  the  conductor  was  beini^  besieged. 

**  Spurring  our  horses  tt)  a  tlead  run  we 
charged  the  band,  and  when  within  rifle  range 
began  to  pour  the  lead  into  them.  For  a  time 
they  withstood  the  storm  bravely,  but  never  an 
arrow  was  aimed  at  us. 

**  ,\n  Indian  would  hang  over  the  wail,  two 
or  ♦^hrce  of  his  companions  holding  on  to  his 
feet,  and  send  a  poisoned  arrow  after  the  con- 
ductor. Some  of  them  were  wounded  or 
killed  by  our  bullets,  but  that  seemed  to  make 
them  the  more  determined  to  kill  the  prisoner. 
We  were  by  no  means  anxious  to  ajiproach 
within  reach  of  their  arrows,  but  the  problem 
of  rescuing  th-e  conducior  was  becoming  a 
serious  one.  V.xqw  now  he  might  be  dead,  for 
we  could  neither  see  nor  hear  him,  so  great 
were  the  din  and  the  dust.  Finding  it  impos- 
sible to  drive  the  red  devils  away  from  their 
murderous  work,  our  commander  ordered  us  to 
charge,  and  galloj-jing  up  to  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  blufi  we  halted,  and  taking  delib- 


a 


76 


FRONTIER   SrOK/ES 


V  i 


a 


.'it 


crate  r.im  let  fly  a  shower  of  lead  that  sent  a 
hnlf-dozen  Indians  to  the  earth.  At  that  mo- 
ment an  Indian,  who  had  just  discharged  an 
arrow  at  the  imprisoned  conductor,  leaped  to 
liis  feet  and  gave  an  exultant  yell.  Instantly 
the  whole  band,  taking  up  the  cry,  disappeared 
b(;hind  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  Leaving  a  majority  of  our  force  on  guard, 
tlie  captain  and  I  approached  toward  where  the 
Indians  had  been  aiming  their  arrows.  So  dense 
was  the  cloud  of  dust  that  hung  about  the  hill  lu 
the  still  morning  air  that  we  were  unable,  for  a 
time,  to  locate  the  unfortunate  man.  To  our 
calls  he  made  no  re])ly,  and  we  knew  that  he 
was  beyond  human  aid.  When  we  finally  found 
him  he  was  still  standing  upright,  with  the 
chalk  from  the  bluff  ])iled  above  his  waist.  A 
number  of  arrows  were  sticking  in  his  arms 
and  shoulders.  Only  the  small  end  of  one 
stood  above  his  coat.  It  had  entered  just 
behind  his  collar-bone,  near  the  left  side  of 
his  neck,  and,  passing  downward,  the  point  of 
it  had  pierced  his  heart.  His  head  hung  upon 
his  breast,  while  his  helpless  hands  rested  upon 
the  rocks  that  had  been  heaped  around  him. 


/./    THE   I/OSriTAL 


77 


)f 

)f 

in 

n 


"  It  would  be  as  impossible  for  me  to  describe 
the  expression  on  the  dead  man's  face  as  it 
has  been  for  me  to  forget  it.  It  was  a  sight  to 
take  out  of  a  white  man's  heart  any  whit  of 
Christian  sympathy  he  may  have  harbored  there 
for  his  red  brother.  It  was  hard  to  look  u])on 
there,  but  wiien  we  had  carried  the  poor  fel- 
low s  body  back  to  his  home  and  borne  it  up 
to  the  door  of  a  little  white  cottage  to  the  very 
spot  upon  which  he  had  kisseii  his  wife  c^nd 
baby  "  good-by  "  only  a  few  days  before,  it 
was  harder  still.  When  his  gray-haired  mother 
bent  her  stiff  knees  beside  the  dead  man, 
when  his  wife  wept  over  his  coffin,  and  his 
blue-eyed  baby  stood  staring  at  the  cold  white 
face,  unable  to  understand,  there  crept  into  my 
heart  a  feeling  of  bitter  hatred  for  those  red 
devils  which  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  overcome;"  and  the  sick  man  sighed  and 
turned  away  his  face  to  hide  whatever  he  had 
in  his  eyes. 


\ 


,(* 


<«> 


:ii 


.i.|)^ 


t\}c  mmhop  of  p 


ncc 


^■^|»1*'"^j^: 


.■  i 


•i 


t 


^f..M^ 


* 


ii^ 


,! 


THE    BISHOP   OF    PRICE. 


^9'^' 


^i 


I 


IN  the  face  of  the  well-established  fact  that 
the  earth  is  full  of  gold,  and  the  other  fact 
tl'at  the  Uintah  Indian  reservation  is  about  to 
b*  thrown  open  to  prospectors  antl  others,  tliis 
story  of  Smith's  will  be  of  interest.  Vou  may 
not  find  the  mine,  but  you  can't  fail  to  find 
Smith  of  Utah.  No  doubt  you  will  find  him  at 
the  railway  station  wherever  and  whenever  you 
leave  the  train.  There  are  as  many  Smiths  as 
there  are  Youngs  in  Utah. 

"  I  've  read  your  story  of  the  Peso-la-ki 
mine,"  said  Smith.  "  It's  a  good  story,  but  I 
know  a  better  one,  because  it 's  the  story  of  a 
l)etter  mine.  Caleb  Rhoads,  a  rich  Mormon, 
formerly  Bishop  of  Price,  could  tell  you  more, 
but  he  won't.  Some  people  who  had  money 
and  faith,  offered  the  bishop  i^  10,000  to  tell 
them,  and  he  refused.  Forty  years  ago,"  con- 
tinued Smith  of  Utah,  •*  Caleb  Rhoads  and  his 
brother  found  a  rich  placer  in  the  TJintah  reser- 


IHli 


MM 


Sz 


/•KON  TIE  A"   .V I  OK  //iS 


vation,  but  the  Indians  found  the  Rhoads,  and 
had  trouble  with  them. 

"  The  prospect  was  a  rich  one,  and  the  two 
brothers  conchuled  to  fight  for  it.  It  was  so 
ricii  in  gold  that  they  could  shake  enough 
yellow  meal  out  of  a  single  ])an  of  diit  to  fill 
the  bowl  of  an  ordinary  cob  \)\pe. 

"  Well,  the  Indians  came  and  saw,  and 
killed  Caleb's  brotiicr  and  crippled  Caleb.  It 
was  almost  a  miracle  that  he  escaped.  As  it 
was,  he  brought  away  enough  flint  and  lend 
to  sink  a  raft,  all  comfortably  cached  in  his 
hide.  He  is  a  stayer,  is  this  same  Caleb 
Rhoads,  and  he  went  back  the  following  sum- 
mer and  brought  out  a  goodly  bag  of  dust. 

**  He  continued  to  go  every  summer  for 
years  and  years,  and  his  neighbors  marvelled  at 
the  easy  life  he  led,  and  some  of  them  offered 
to  be  company  for  him,  but  the  wily  Caleb 
wouldn't  have  it.  Once  they  made  up  a 
jackpot  and  offered  to  buy  a  share  in  these 
annual  sorties,  but  they  v/ere  not  for  sale.  At 
length,  when  four  decades  had  passed  away 
and  Caleb  had  grown  rich  with  little  or  no 
exertion,  some  of  his  neighbors  determined  to 


rm:  nis/for  or  rRicE 


«;. 


follow  the  prospector  into  the  hills.  Caleb 
heard  of  it  and  made  his  friends  welcome,  but 
refused  to  be  responsible  for  the  followers. 

*"  If  you  get  Icist  in  the  hills,'  said  he, 
•you'll  have  yourselves  to  blame,  for  I  sha'n't 
hunt  you  out.' 

"  Well,  they  all  agreed  to  keep  up  with  the 
prospector,  and  arranLjements  were  made  ac- 
cordingly for  a  long  journey.  Caleb  gave  out 
the  day  and  date  upon  which  he  wouKl  vamose, 
but  no  one  believed  him.  For  a  week  thoy 
watched  his  house  as  terriers  watch  a  rathole, 
and  Caleb  slejU  through  it  all  like  an  innocent 
babe.  Finally,  when  the  last  night  came  the 
men  who  were  to  go  with  the  jirospector  were 
so  sure  that  he  would  steal  awa^  that  they  had 
their  horses  saddled  and  ready  all  night.  To 
their  great  surprise,  Caleb  never  stirred  until 
daylight,  when  he  started  his  men  out  to  '  call ' 
his  neighbors  who  were  to  accompany  him. 
That  made  the  men  feel  so  mean  that  they 
outdid  each  other  in  helping  the  prospector  to 
pack.  One  of  the  party  suggested  that  Caleb 
might  be  luring  them  out  for  the  purpose  of 
losing  them,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 


if 


\ 

l)] 


•I|l( 


84 


FKO.WTIKK  S  TOR  I /IS 


they  iniglu  belter  keep  watch  tlie  fiibt  night, 
but  the  others  only  laughed  at  him. 

"'He  can't  lose  me,  Charley,'  said  one  of 
the  young  men ;  an<l  so  they  ceased  to  be 
suspicious  of  Caleb. 

"  In  order,  as  he  said,  to  reach  a  favorite 
camping-gruund,  they  were  obliged  to  travel 
far  into  the  nigiit,  and  when  they  had  finally 
camjjed,  and  had  supper,  Caleb  kept  them  \\\) 
for  hours  telling  them  wonderful  tales  of  the 
wild  country  to  which  he  would  lead  them. 
NVhen  at  last  they  rolled  up  in  their  blankets 
the  weary  men  slept  soundly  until  Caleb  called 
them  to  get  breakHist.  He  apologized  for 
having  to  get  them  out  so  early,  but  they  must 
make  thirty-five  miles  that  day  across  an  arm 
of  the  desert  before  they  could  find  water, 
which  in  that  country  is  only  to  be  found  in 
rock  basins,  or  tanks,  as  the  cowboys  call  them. 
All  day  long  the  four  men  and  eight  horses 
trailed  across  the  arm  of  this  shipless  sea,  with- 
out food  or  water  for  themselves  or  their 
animals. 

"  What  with  their  all-night  watch  at  Price, 
followed   by  a  hard    day's  work    and   a    short 


THE  Bisiror  or  price 


8S 


sleep,  they  were  lieart-sick  antl  s;ul<ile-s()re 
long  before  the  fringe  of  pine  that  marked  the 
l)lace  of  water  came  in  sight.  By  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon  tlie  foothills  seemed  to  be 
within  rifle  range  of  them.  When  the  sun 
went  down  the  hills  began  to  retire,  as  it  were, 
and  finally  ni  Ited  away  in  the  darkness.  The 
horses  were  tired,  and  the  pack  horses  had  to 
be  urged  on  constantly,  and  now  went  along 
doggedly,  holding  their  dusty  noses  close  to  the 
sand.  Pr  sently  the  moon  came  out  of  the 
desert  a  little  way  behind  them  and  shone  on 
the  evergreen  trees  that  garnished  the  foothills. 
Now  they  came  to  a  little  stream,  not  more 
than  a  foot  wiile,  that  ran  across  the  trail. 

"  The  famished  horses  stopped  short.  Caleb, 
dismounting,  scooped  up  a  handful  of  the 
water,  tasted  it,  and  shouted  to  the  men  to 
push  on.  The  water  was  poisoned  with  alkali. 
When  at  last  they  found  water,  the  men  wnc 
uUerly  done  out.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
Caleb  persuaded  them  to  cook  some  supper, 
for  they  were  all  for  sleeping,  hungry  as  they 
were.  The  good  captain  cheered  them  with 
the   assurance  that  they  wouUl  have  no  more 


i 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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niotographic 

Sciences 
Corpordtion 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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86 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


such  work.  They  were  in  God's  country  now, 
he  told  them,  where  water  and  game  could  be 
found  in  abundance. 

*'*  To-morrow,'  said  Caleb,  'you  can  go  as 
you  please,  for  I  assure  you  that  I  am  not  fond 
of  these  forced  marches.'  " 

"  That  night  when  they  had  finished  supper, 
a  couple  of  Indians  came  up  to  the  fire  and 
begged,  or  rather  demanded,  food.  They  were 
inclined  to  be  ugly,  so  the  white  men  fed  them, 
but  they  refused  to  go  away.  They  wanted 
tobacco,  which  was  given  them,  and  then  they 
asked  for  whiskey.  They  could  not  have 
whiskey,  Caleb  told  them.  *  Me  know  how  get 
whisk,'  said  an  ugly  savage,  tapping  the  rifle 
that  rested  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  Now  the 
young  men  who  had  come  out  to  fathom  the 
mysteries  of  the  old  Mormon's  wealth,  grew 
suddenly  homesick.  To  the  surprise  and 
amazement  of  his  companions,  Caleb  rose 
deliberately,  walked  over  to  ''he  savage,  and 
began  to  kick  hirn  out  of  camp.  What 
surprised 'them  still  more  was  that  the  Indian 
made  no  show  of  resistance,  but  went  his  way. 

"  This  little  incident  put  away  any  fear  that 


THE  BISHOP  OF  PRICE 


87 


might  otherwise  have  broken  the  much-needed 
rest  of  the  weary  voyagers,  and  in  a  Httle  while 
they  were  sleeping  like  dead  men.  But  Caleb 
could  not  sleep,  —  not  because  he  had  any  fear 
of  the  Indians,  but  he  could  not  afford  it. 
Shortly  after  midnight  he  untied  his  two  horses 
and  led  them  away.  When  out  of  sight  and 
hearing  of  the  camp  he  stopped,  opened  his 
paniers,  and  took  out  eight  ready-made  mocca- 
sins. He  put  one  on  each  of  the  eight  feet 
that  went  with  his  two  horses  and  stole  softly 
away.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  he  found 
water  and  camped,  but  he  made  no  fire.  As 
soon  as  it  was  light  he  sec  out  on  his  journey, 
the  muffled  feet  of  his  horses  making  little  or 
no  noise,  and  leaving  tracks  in  the  sand  on  the 
selvage  of  the  desert  that  looked  like  Indian 
tracks  going  the  other  way. 

"  The  young  men  slept  until  the  sun  was  up, 
and  when  they  awoke  looked  very  foolish. 
They  found  the  tracks  of  Caleb's  horses,  and 
without  stopping  to  make  coffee,  took  the  trail. 
In  an  hour  they  lost  it  on  a  barren  sweep  of 
sandstone,  and  they  never  found  it  again. 
When  they  had  grown  weary  of  the  search  they 
halted  for  breakfast. 


I 


Hi  * 


88 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


"  Like  hundreds  of  others  they  had  acquired 
that  beastly  American  habit  of  drinking  before 
breakfast,  and  now  when  they  sought  the  jug 
they  found  a  note  from  their  late  leader.  It 
was  neatly  folded  and  had  one  corner  caught 
playfully  in  the  mouth  of  the  jug  and  held  there 
by  the  cork. 

"  It  was  a  very  brief  message,  no  date  and 
no  signature,  but  it  was  pithy  and  to  the  point. 
Only  one  of  the  men  had  seen  it,  and  now  his 
companions  called  to  him  to  read  it.  One  of 
the  men  had  paused  with  the  brown  jug  thrown 
above  his  curved  elbow,  his  hand  on  the  handle 
and  his  mouth  stealing  to  the  mouth  of  the 
jug,  as  the  mouth  of  a  Mexican  maiden  glides 
to  the  kiss  of  her  caballero.  At  the  very 
moment  when  the  man  was  about  to  read 
aloud  the  old  bishop's  last  message,  a  half- 
dozen  Indians  jumped  into  the  camp.  One  of 
them  took  the  jug  gently  from  the  bewildered 
prospector,  smelled  it,  and  took  a  drink. 

"A  very  large  rnan,  who  was  extremely 
dirty,  ugly,  pockmarked,  and  generally  unhand- 
some, kicked  the  Indian  and  reached  for  the 
jug.     Before   drinking   he    kicked   the    Indian 


THE   BlSHOr  OF  PRICE 


89 


again  and  swore  at  him  in  a  blending  of 
Spanish,  Indian,  and  bad  luigHsh.  Manifestly 
this  was  the  leader. 

"  J5y  the  time  this  important  individual  had 
quenched  his  thirst  a  dozen  Indians  had  come 
into  camp.  They  ate  what  they  could  ^\\\i\, 
drank  all  the  whiskey,  and  signed  to  the  white 
men  to  get  up.  U'hen  they  were  mounted  the 
pockmarked  man  tapped  his  rifle  and  said 
'  Vamos  ! ' 

"The    three    men,    thoroughly    frightened, 
reined  their  horses  down  the  gulch. 

''  When  they  had  left  the  foothills  L\x  behind 
them  and  felt  the  sun  hot  on  the  back  of  their 
necks,  one  of  them  asked  the  man  who  had 
Caleb's  letter  to  read  it.  '  Listen,  then,'  said 
the  man  who  was  riding  in  front,  and  who  now 
held  up  the  sheet  of  white  paper  ;  and  then  he 
reau  .   'Adios.'" 


\  I 


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a  aJiiirt  EDap  3111  CiTfDc 


♦  i: 


A   QUIET    DAY    IN    CREEDE. 

IT  WW.  a  qnict  day  in  Crccde  Camp,  in  the 
mcrning  of  the  summer  of  '92.  Most  of 
tlic  miners  were  away  in  the  hills,  many  of  the 
gamblers  and  others  of  the  night  shift  were  still 
slec[)ing,  thuiigh  it  was  now  4  p.  m.  A  string 
of  burros,  laden  with  heavy  loads  of  boards, 
which  tl.jy  were  about  to  drag  away  up  to  the 
Last  Chance,  stood  dreaming  in  San  Luis 
avenue  and  having  their  pictures  taken  by  the 
writer.  Some  fishermen,  with  long  cane  poles 
thrown  over  their  shoulders,  were  trailing  out 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  town,  in  the  direction 
of  the  Rio  Grande.  A  string  of  heavy  ore- 
wagons  was  coming  down  the  mountain  from 
the  Amethyst  mine.  The  brake  on  the  forward 
wagon  gave  way  when  the  team  was  nearly 
down  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  instantly  the 
heavy  load  shot  forward,  and  the  i)oor  animals 
—  there  were  six  of  them — bounded  away 
ill  a  mad  effort  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the 


'■1 

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94 


I'Ro.\'Ti/:k  stokii:s 


heavy  load.  The  wheel  horses  ni)i)cared  to 
understand  that  they  were  expected  to  hold 
the  wagon  bark,  and  tliey  did  what  they  could  ; 
but  the  force  of  tiie  great  wagon  threw  them 
off  their  feet,  and  when  they  fell  sli<l  them 
along  the  rocky  road  to  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
grinding  and  crushing  their  legs  under  the 
wheels,  and  when  the  wagon  finally  stopped 
they  were  both  dead.  All  this  happened  just 
above  and  in  full  view  of  the  town,  so  that 
many  of  the  people  saw  it  and  heard  the 
poor  animals  cry,  almost  as  a  human  being 
would  cry  for  help,  while  they  were  being  run 
down  and  killed  by  the  ore-wagon. 

A  moment  later  the  crowd  which  had  col- 
lected to  view  the  wreck  had  its  attention  di- 
verted by  a  baby  burro  that  now  came  reeling 
down  the  principal  street  with  a  well-developed 
"jag"  and  a  gait  like  Riley's  "  wabbledy " 
calf.  Some  hoodlums  had  given  the  burro 
beer,  and  he  was  as  drunk  as  a  man. 

A  sorry-looking  young  woman  was  working 
the  shops  and  saloons  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
avenue.     She   carried  a  long  sheet  of  writing- 


A  QUIET  DAY  r.v  CREiinr. 


95 


paper,   upon   which   slic   asked   people   to   put 
Iheir    names,    and     opposite    their    names    the 
amount    of   their   subscriptions.      One    of  the 
girls  had  died  the  night  before,  and  this  money 
was  asked  to  pay  some  one  to  dig  a  hole  at  the 
t(>i)  of  tiie  liill   and  to  liire  an  express  wagon 
to  iiaui   the  girl  up   there.     When  the  woman 
came   to  the  Leadville  dance  hall  she  entered 
and  was  greeted  sadly  by  another  woman  who 
stood  over  behind  a  low  railing  which  extended 
from  the  end  of  the  bar  to  the  front  of  the  tent, 
fencing  off  a  little  space  which  served  as  an  office 
for  the  propietor  and  the  woman,  who  was  a  si- 
lent partner  in  the  firm.    The  visitor  pushed  the 
paper  over  toward  the  man  —  a  small,  sallow- 
looking  man  of  thirty- two,  who  was  ever  fidget- 
ing and  glancing  at  the  door  of  whatever  house 
he  happened  to  be  in.     The  man  glanced  down 
the  column,  saw  *'  Soapy  Smith,  $5,"  and,  as  he 
hated  ''  Soapy,"  he  immediately  raised  him  five, 
gave    the  woman  the  money,   and   wrote   just 
under  his  name  and  the  ten,  ''Charity  cover- 
eth  a  multitude  of  sins."     Then  he  passed  out 
from  behind  the  bar  and  began  walking  slowly 
to  the  rear  end  of  the  long  room.     The  woman 


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J-'RONfn:R  STORIES 


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with  the  sorry  face  and  tlic  long  wliitc  paper 
passed  out.  Upon  the  thresh(;ld  she  met  a  man 
in  miner's  clothes,  and  even  as  she  turned  to  look 
at  him  a  very  short  man  rode  up  to  the  door  of 
the  tent  and  handed  a  double-barrelled  sh(jt- 
gun  to  the  man  at  the  entrance.  As  the  miner- 
looking  man  entered  the  tent  with  the  gun  the 
woman  with  the  i)aper  turned  as  if  she  would 
follow  him,  for  she  feared  that  the  stranger 
might  do  violence,  reluctant  as  she  was  to 
believe  that  a  man  in  a  refined  mining  centre 
would  resort  to  the  use  of  so  clumsy,  not  to  say 
unconventional,  a  shooting  iron  as  a  shot-gun. 
"  Hello,  Bob  !  "  called  the  man  with  the  gun, 
and  as  the  keeper  of  the  dance  hall  turned  he 
raised  the  weapon  and  let  go  both  barrels. 
The  shot,  without  scattering,  entered  the  throat 
of  the  victim  and  carried  his  gold  collar-button 
out  through  the  back  of  his  neck. 

The  report  of  the  shot-gun  startled  the  whole 
camp,  and  as  the  Leadville  was  directly  oppo- 
site my  hotel,  I  rushed  over  and  was  almost  the 
first  man  in  the  place.  One  man  had  preceded 
me,  and  as  I  entered  he  came  out  and  shouted. 
"  Bob  Ford's  dead  !  " 


A    QUIET  DAY  /X  CREKPE 


97 


At  the  moment  I  cntcrc<l,  the  only  person  in 
tlic  room  was  the  insignificant-looking  woman 
ill  tlie  little  office.  She  was  weeping.  She 
knew  mc  as  the  editor  of  the  morning  paper, 
and  at  once  beg;ni  to  pour  out  the  story  of 
l^ob's  virtues,  "He  had  planned,"  she  said, 
*' to  do  much  goo«l."  "  Ves,"  said  I,  "it  is 
reported  that  lie  inteniled  to  kill  off  the  entire 
•Clironiclc'  force,  including  the  editor." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  went  on  hurriedly,  for 
the  place  was  filling  u{)  rapidly,  "but  he  did  n't 
mean  it  —  he  tole  me  so  —  he  tlid  n't  have  it 
in  fur  you-all  a  little  bit.  lUit  say,"  she 
continued,  waving  a  hand  in  the  direction  of 
the  corpse,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  a  fresh 
flood  of  tears,  "just  to  think  they  should  shoot 
him  with  that  kind  of  a  guiv — it  —  just  breaks 
—  my  heart;"  and  she  leaned  her  head  upon 
the  bar  and  wept  bitterly. 

Presently  she  lifted  her  head,  dried  her  eyes, 
and  continued  :  — 

"  Why,  Bob  would  n't  uv  killed  a  coyote  with 
a  shot-gun  —  it 's  a  coward  gun.  When  he 
killed  Jesse  James,  the  bravest  man  'at  ever 
lived,  an'  the  deadest  shot,  he  dun  it  with  a  45, 

7 


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98 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


ftm 


11] 


an'  cf  he'd  'a'  come  down  to  clear  out  the 
*  Chronicle,'  which  he  woulden',  he  'd  uv  come 
with  his  two  han's  an'  his  six-shooter,  an'  he  'd 
'a'  had  you-all  jumpin'  thu  the  winders  an' 
scootin'  fur  th'  willers  'fore  yer  could  uv  raised 

"  Well,"  said  I,  glancing  toward  the  rear  of 
the  room,  to  make  sure  he  was  still  there, 
**  Bob  's  all  right.     He  's  a  good  fellow  —  now." 

I  had  known  Ford.  He  was  the  first  man 
to  whom  I  WPS  introduced  upon  my  first  visit 
to  the  camp.  He  had  been  our  guide,  and 
had  shown  Judge  Rooker  and  me  the  camp  by 
candle-light.  It  was  upon  this  occasion  that  I 
noticed  his  nervousness.  If  a  man  came  in 
and  left  the  door  open,  Ford  would  slip  back 
and  shut  it.  If  there  was  a  mirror  over  the 
bar,  he  always  kept  his  eyes  on  it,  not  to  see 
himself,  but  to  observe  those  who  passed  to 
and  fro  behind  him. 

In  a  pleasant  way,  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
expecting  some  one.  He  answered,  smiling 
sadly,  that  he  was  always  expecting  some  one. 
He  had  saved  his  life  once  in  Kansas  City  by 
looking  into   a  mirror.     A    friend  of  the   man 


\i  ' 


A    QUIET  DAY  IN  CREEDE 


99 


he  had  murdered  entered  the  room,  saw  Ford's 
face  in  the  mirror,  and  instantly  reached  for 
his  gun.  F(  .,  Hfting  his  glass,  saw  the  man, 
and  the  moment  their  eyes  met,  the  man 
weakened  and  passed  on.  My  friend  the 
judge,  from  force  of  habit,  I  presume,  began  to 
question  Ford  about  the  killing  of  Jesse  James, 
and  the  fellow  told  us  that  he  had  been  led  to 
believe  that  if  he  killed  James,  whose  friend 
and  messenger  he  had  been,  he  would  be  the 
greatest  man  in  Missouri.  That  meant  a  great 
deal  to  this  boy  of  twenty-two,  for  outside  of 
Missouri  there  was  little  worth  striving  for. 
And  then,  to  justify  his  cowardly  act,  he  related 
that  it  had  been  planned  by  James  that  a  bank 
should  be  robbed  shortly,  and  Ford  had  been 
told  that  he  was  to  enter  the  bank  with  James, 
who  would  quietly  shoot  him,  as  he  had  begun 
to  mistrust  the  "  kid."  All  this  Ford  pretended 
to  believe.  He  was  confident  that  he  would 
have  been  murdered  in  ?  little  while  if  he  had 
not  put  a  bullet  through  Jesse's  back  while  he 
was  hanging  a  picture. 

Kelly,    the    "tough    citizen"    who  removed 
Ford,  seemed,  strangely  enough,  to  regard  the 


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FRONTIER  STORIES 


killing  of  this  man  much  as  Ford  had  looked 
upon  the  killing  of  Jesse  James.  Ford  was  an 
open  enemy  of  society,  and  only  a  month  be- 
fore his  death  had  closed  all  the  business  houses 
and  put  the  camp  to  bed  at  nine  r.  m.  The 
morning  paper  had  suggested  that  Ford  be  in- 
formed that  he  would  be  expected,  in  the  future, 
to  refrain  from  shutting  up  the  town,  leave  the 
camp,  or  be  hanged,  just  as  he  pleased ;  and 
for  that  he  swore  he  would  kill  off  the  work- 
ing force,  from  the  editor-in-chief  down  to 
"Freckled  Jimmie,"  the  devil. 

However,  Kelly  was  wrong.  He  was  con- 
demned even  by  Ford's  enemies  for  his 
cowardly  act,  just  as  the  public  had  disapproved 
of  the  murder  of  Jesse  James.  All  agreed  that 
the  removal  of  Jesse  wou.ld  facilitate  the  move- 
ment of  trains  in  j^Iissouri,  and  that  Ford's 
absence  would  add  much  to  the  peace  and 
quiet  of  Creede  camp,  but  no  man  admires  a 
coward.  So  Kelly  was  arrested,  and  later,  when 
he  ran  up  against  Judge  (now  Representative) 
]>eirs ''  equity  mill,"  he  was  surprised  to  receive 
a  life  sentence  in  the  pen. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  following  the  kill- 


A    (JUIET  DAY  I.V  CRK/CnK 


lor 


ing,  a  half- hundred  people  assembled  in  a  store- 
room, where  religious  services  were  held. 
They  brought  Ford's  coffin  and  placed  it  upon 
a  bench,  and  then  the  preacher  got  up  and 
preached  a  funeral  sermon.  He  was  not  very 
enthusiastic,  I  thought;  ',ut  he  had  a  tough 
client  and  a  hard  case.  He  took  for  his  text, 
if  he  could  be  said  to  have  taken  anything,  the 
line  which  Ford  had  written  upon  the  white 
paper,  ''  Charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins," 
and  made  the  most  of  it. 

When  he  had  finished,  an  express  wagon 
backed  up  to  the  door,  they  put  the  dead  man 
in,  and  the  wagon  wound  away  up  the  trail  to  a 
level*  spot  above  the  town,  where  the  unwept 
and  unfortunate  girl  had  been  buried  the  day 
Ford  died,  where  all  about  were  new-made 
graves,  where  Joe  Simmons  and  "■  Slanting 
Annie"  slept  side  by  side. 

The  autumn  winds  blow  bleak  and  chill, 
The  sighing,  qui\cring  aspen  waves 

Above  the  summit  of  the  hill. 
Above  the  unrecorded  graves, 

Where  halt,  abandoned  Ijurros  feed, 

And  coyotes  call  —  and  this  is  Creede. 


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A   COWBOY'S    FUNERAL. 

IVr  EARLY  twelve  months  have  elapsed  since 
^  ^       the  "Creede  Chronicle  "  published  the 
story  of  (Lanibler  Joe  Sininions's  funeral,  which 
was  the  first  important  event  in   the  history  of 
that  new  camp.     Up  to  that  time  Joe  Simmons 
had  done  very  little  to  win  tlie  applause  of  the 
newspaper  fraternity,  but,  dying  as  he  did  on 
the  eve  of  the   first   issue  of  a  great  daily,  he 
made   the  hit  of  his  life,  got  a  good  send  off, 
and    helped     the    local    force    out    immensely. 
When,  on   the  morning    following    the    day  of 
Joe's    burial,    the    newsboys    marched    up   the 
narrow  streets  that  had  been  cut  through  the 
willows,  crying:  ''Morning  Chronicle;  all  'bout 
Joe  Simmons'  fun'al  an'  shootin'  at  Bob  Ford's 
Dance  Hall,"  the  entire  edition  was  exhausted 
in  thirty  minutes.     All  the  gamblers  and  swift 
characters  bought  copies  for  their  scrap-books 
(and  in  those  days  the  history  of  Crcede  was 
one  continual  round  of  scraps),  and  copies  to 


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FRONT/ EK   SrOKIKS 


send  away.  I'robably  nine  hundrctl  out  of 
every  thousand  people  who  read  this  story, 
which  told  how  S()a[)y  Smith  presided  at  the 
grave,  opened  champagne,  antl  said,  "  Now 
let  us  drink  to  Joe's  soul  over  there  —  if  there 
is  any  over  there,"  believed  that  what  tliey 
read  was  only  a  mining  romance  ;  but  it  was 
wholly  true  ;  and  the  great  daily,  I  am  proud 
to  say,  endureth  sti'l,  a  menace  to  road  agents 
and  shell  men,  and  a  tliorn  in  the  side  of  as 
crooked  a  City  Council  as  ever  embarrassed 
a  growing  community. 

Another  funeral,  equally  interesting,  came 
under  my  notice  on  the  desert  not  long  ago. 
A  j)arty  of  cowboys  had  gone  to  Thompson's 
Springs,  a  small  town  in  Utah,  to  buy  supplies, 
and  while  there  filled  up  on  "valley  tan"  and 
amused  themselves  by  shooting  at  the  toes  of  a 
tramp  to  see  him  dance.  A  bullet  from  a 
"  forty-five  "  glanced  from  the  frozen  ground, 
struck  a  young  man  who  had  gone  out  of  his 
way  to  ask  the  shooters  to  de'^ist,  and  killed 
him.  Seeing  what  they  had  done,  the  cowboys 
fled,  but  were  pursued  by  a  sheriffs  posse,  and 
one  of  the  gang  was  fatah^  shot.     The  leaden 


/J  coir  no  rs  fuxeral 


107 


missile  from  a  Winchester  rille  passed  entirely 
through  him,  and  he  beg.in  to  sway  tt)  and  fro  ; 
but  the  horse,  so  accustomed  to  carrying  men 
who  were  under  the  *'  influence,"  kept  under 
the  form  of  the  dying  man  until  his  compan- 
ions, seeing  his  condition,  dashetl  forward  and 
sui)ported  him  until  his  horse  could  be  stopi)ed. 
The  pu.rsuing  party  were  now  pressing  them  so 
closely  t  ;it  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  The 
legs  of  the  lifeless  cowboy  were  lashed  to  the 
horse,  his  hands  tied  to  the  saddle  horn,  and 
a  man  rode  on  either  side  supporting  the  body 
until  it  stiffened  sufficiently  to  enable  it  to  keep 
its  place  in  the  saddle. 

All  night  they  dashed  away  over  a  trackless, 
treeless  plain,  camping  at  daybreak  on  the  San 
Rafael  River,  where  they  remained  all  that  day, 
having  hobbled  their  horses  in  a  side  canon, 
where  thf'y  could  feed  and  go  down  to  the 
river  and  drink.  When  it  was  dark  again  the 
dead  cowboy  was  lashed  to  his  old  place  in  the 
saddle,  and  away  they  went,  over  a  soundless 
sea  of  sand. 

A  hundred  miles  had  been  placed  between 
the  scene  of  the  shooting  and  the    frightened 


VII 

i 


Ill 


i\  ' 


1« 


u 


1 08 


rRO.VTIEK  STORl/CS 


fugitives  when  they  canipecl  at  dawn  on  the 
desert,  not  more  than  200  yards  from  where 
we  were  sleeping.  'I'hcy  jiad  little  to  fear  from 
us,  however,  as  .  v  •.itninnbcred  us  two  to 
one,  —  my  party  consisting  of  a  travelling  com- 
panion, a  Mexic.m  guide,  and  myself. 

We  were  well  mounted,  and,  as  our  horses 
had  been  a  great  temptation  to  the  Navajos,  I 
was  afraid  they  might  be  to  these  wild  sons  of 
the  desert.  l>eing  thoroughly  frightened,  I 
walked  right  over  to  their  camp  to  show  them 
that  1  was  not,  —  making  by  this  movement  the 
same  cold  blufr  that  Benighted  Harry  made  on 
the  friendly  guide-post.  I  remember,  too,  that 
I  whistled  as  I  went  along. 

"Some  one  sick?"  I  asked,  glancing  at  a 
blanket  bed. 

"Worse 'n  sick,"  was  tlic  reply.  "One  of 
our  gang  was  accidentally  shot  yesterday,  and 
we  've  stopped  here  to  cache  him." 

Poor,  unfortunate  fellow,  I  thought ;  it  did 
seem  such  a  lonely,  desolate  place  to  be  buried, 
and  I  hinted  as  much. 

"Gist  what  he  wanted,  —  used  to  always 
say  :  — 


^ 


A  coirnors  fuxkrai. 


109 


"'  I  w.mt  110  fciuj.jcl  ill  graveyard, 
With  snorin'  souls  about ; 
Just  caciic  mc  in  the  desert, 
Wlien  my  light  goes  out.'  " 

"Did  your  dead  friend  write  verses?"  was 
my  next  question. 

"  Naw,  he  did  n't  write  verses  —  gist  writ 
poetry,  tliat  's  all.  Of  course  he  warn't  like 
your  cddicated  New  York  poets,  but  a  plain, 
God-built  chile  o'  nature.  Why,  he  was  every- 
thino;  that  was  good  in  this  layout,  and  here  's  a 
gang  that  will  be  about  as  cheerful  from  this  on 
as  a  mockin'  bird  with  the  lonsil-eat-us.  Gist 
ourt  to  heard  him  speak  the  '  Ship  o'  the 
Desert,'  and  'The  Luck  o'  Roarin'  Camp.' 
Always  carried  a  copy  of  Gene  Field's  Western 
verses.  Said  he  knowed  Field  ,  ised  to  follow 
him  down  to  the  midnight  trair*  at  St.  Joe,  gist 
to  hear  him  speak  *  Little  \Villie  '  to  the  ticket 
agent." 

As  the  speaker  concluded  he  stepped  over  to 
where  the  packs  and  saddles  were  and  lifted  a 
long  black  bottle  from  one  of  the  panniers,  and 
I  noticed  that  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 
Having  been  brcught   up   by  poor  but  demo- 


i  A 


m 


f^ 


^ 


Vr 


-1* 


I  lO 


I'RO.VTr/iR  sroiiiKS 


cratic  parents,  I  founfl  no  difTiculty  in  doing 
what  I  was  cxpcrtcd  to  do,  anil  tlicn  I  gave 
the  bottle  to  the  next  man.  When  the  black 
assassin  came  back  to  the  leader  again  he  held 
it  uj)  between  him  and  the  sun,  which  was 
at  tiiat  moment  swinging  up  from  the  earth, 
apparently  not  more  than  a  mile  away,  and 
took  a  long,  gurgling  drink. 

When  the  bottle  went  back  to  its  resting- 
place  it  was  empty,  and  it  was  evident  that  they 
had  been  drinking  beft)re  my  arrival. 

The  black  bottle,  however,  is  a  great  boon, 
alike  to  the  light  and  the  heavy  drinker,  as  it 
enables  one  to  drink  much  or  little  without 
causing  comment. 

Under  the  mellowing  inOuence  of  the  brain 
destroyer  the  talking  man  became  very  sociable. 
I  was  interested  in  the  dead  man  —  this  "  (lod- 
built  chile  o'  nature  "  —  and  asked  to  be  told 
more  about  him,  how  he  happened  to  come 
West,  and  all. 

"It  was  like  this,"  he  began,  offering  me  a 
saddle  and  taking  a  seat  on  the  ground  him- 
self. ''  It  was  like  this  :  Doc  was  a  friend  of 
the    Ford  boys,  and   when  Bob  disgraced  the 


I 


/J    LOli'IiOrS  rUXICKAL 


1 1 1 


n.i'.nc  by  killiiiL;  Jesse  James,  Doc's  girl  roasted 
the  wluilc  outfit  from  the  stage,  —  called  iliem 
murderers,  and  their  friends  associates  after  the 
fact.  Of  course  the  house  went  wild  —  had  to 
move  tlie  chandeliers  —  and  Doc  said  he  was 
afraid  the  '  queen  o'  the  ballet,'  as  he  called 
her,  would  get  tangled  in  her  miskecter-bar 
dress  and  kick  herself  to  death.  Finally  the 
curtain  went  down,  and  Doc  tuck  his  stand  as 
usual  at  the  stage  door  to  see  her  home,  when 
lo,  and  behold  you  !  out  swcei)s  his  fiiry  on  the 
arm  of  one  of  the  James  gang;  and  when  Doc 
sees  the  two  guns  on  the  fellow,  he  was  skeered 
to  death,  and  his  heart  was  broke  too. 

"  Too  proud  to  'pologize,  I  )oc  gist  sold  some 
lots  he  had  and  come  West  and  bought  a  bunch 
of  cattle  on  (lie  lower  entl  of  the  desert.  In 
the  spring,  when  the  cottonwood  leaves  came 
out  and  the  birds  sang  in  the  willows  and 
the  wild  flowers  bloomed  on  the  banks  of  the 
Colorado,  he  used  to  stay  in  the  canons  whole 
days,  all  alone,  makin'  i)ictures  and  writin' 
poetry  'bout  that  girl. 

"  We  fellows  got  tired  seein'  Doc  git  the 
worst  of  it,  with  no  show  to  help  his  hand,  so 


I 


♦ 


I  12 


FROXTIER   STORIES 


one  (lay  we  does  up  a  batch  of  pictures  and 
poetry  and  sends  it  out  to  the  settlements, 
billed   for  St.  Joe. 

"  Bout  two  months,  maybe  three,  Doc  gits 
a  letter.  Course  we  was  all  on,  and  all  we  had 
to  do  was  to  watch  Doc's  {ixco.  while  he  read 
the  letter.  And  such  a  transformation  !  Every 
wrinkle  'pearcd  to  leave  his  face  at  oncft  and 
the  old-time  frown  faded  from  his  forehead  in 
less  than  ten  minutes. 

"  Doc  answered  the  letter,  of  course,  and 
then  he  rode  200  miles  to  mail  it  and  git  killed, 
and  now  this  is  the  end  of  it  all." 

Without  any  explanation  one  of  the  men 
opened  another  bottle  and  as  silently  passed  it 
to  the  leader,  who,  in  turn,  passed  it  to  me. 

I  noticed  that  this  man,  who  always  received 
the  bottle  first,  always  drank  last,  and,  I  thought, 
most. 

At  that  moment,  Jcronimo,  the  Mexican, 
having  come  over  to  say  that  my  breakfast, 
which  consisted  of  ierkec'  beef,  jerked  bread, 
and  water,  was  now  ready,  I  was  about  to 
depart  when  the  leader,  wliom  I  have  been 
quoting  so  extensively,  took  up  the  unfinished 


A    COWBOVS  FUNERAL 


I  I 


J 


business  in  the  last  bottle   and  it  went  round 
again. 

"  Poor  Doc,"  he  began  again.  "  He  had 
no  more  to  do  with  the  kiliin'  of  that  duck  at 
'rhom])son's  Springs  than  he  had  to  do  with  the 
munhr  of  Jesse  James ;  but  I  suppose  that 
Injun  of  a  sheriff  had  to  git  some  one,  and 
he  got  the  innocentest  one  of  the  lot.  I  can't 
see,  for  the  life  of  me,  how  that  bullet  shied  off 
and  hit  —  " 

The    speaker   glanced   at   one  of  his  com- 
panions, who  at  that  moment  was  looking  at 
me  without  winking  an  eye.     I    dropped   my 
gaze,   not   daring  to  look  at   the  man,  who   I 
knew  had  said  something  he  would  like  to  take 
back;  but  as  I  did  so  I  could  feel  that  they 
were    all    looking   at    me,  and    my    face    fairly 
burned  under  their  scorching  gaze.     When  the 
leader  sprang  to  his  feet  I  ventured  to  raise  my 
eyes  to  his,  but  I  almost  regretted  it  the  next 
moment,  for  his  face  was  white  with  rage. 

"  See  here,  pardner,"  he   began,  "  you  talk 
too  d — n  much." 

"I    have  been   listening,"  said    I,   "to    the 
story  you  have  been  good  enough  to  tell  me." 

8 


I 


\ 


114 


FRONTIER   STORIES 


.,1. 


"  Ik'ttcr  say  drunk  enough  to  tell  you,"  said 
one  of  the  gang. 

"  Wal,  then,  you  listen  too  d — n  much." 
This  from  the  man  who  had  been  doing  all 
the  talking,  and  h's  voice  was  so  harsh  and 
awful  thr.f  I  fairly  shook  in  my  laced  boots. 
"  This  was  no  funeral  of  yourn,  and  I  don't 
recollect  sendin'  out  any  invites." 

I  apologized  and  said  I  would  go  away,  but 
the  leader  said,  "  Not  yit."  Then  stepping  up 
in  front  of  me  he  said  very  distinctly  and  very 
slowly  :  — 

"  You  don't  look  like  no  cowboy ;  you  don't 
look  like  no  prospector,  and  you  ain't  got  sand 
'nough  to  steal  a  boss.  Now  will  you  be  kind 
'nough  to  tell  me  who  you  are,  and  what  the 
devil  you  're  doin'  on  the  desert  with  no  gun 
on  you?  " 

I  had  felt  all  along  that  if  I  could  get  the 
floor  I  could  talk  him  out  of  killing  me,  and  I 
said  very  softly,  very  respectfully,  that  I  was  an 
innocent,  inoffensive,  and  almost  inexperienced 
mining  expert,  just  hurrying  in  from  this  edge 
of  the  earth  to  the  shores  of  civilization,  and 
that  the  peace  and  quiet  of  a  Christian  woman, 


A    COlVBOrs  FUNERAL 


IIS 


to  say  nothing  of  65,000,000  outsiders,  de- 
pended larg(.'ly  upon  my  safe  return.  I  said 
a  great  many  other  things  equally  eloquent  and 
to  the  point,  which  I  cannot  just  now  recall. 
When  I  had  fmished  they  said  they  believed  I 
was  "dead  straight,"  and  took  me  into  their 
confidence.  They  hinted,  however,  that  they 
had  friends  out  at  the  settlements  who  would 
"  keep  cpses "  on  me  and  report  any  little 
funny  business  on  my  part,  in  case  I  got  back 
alive  and  decided  to  get  funny. 

The  leader  advised  me  to  be  more  guarded 
in  my  conversation  in  the  future,  and  I  said, 
*'  Don't  mention  it,"  and  went  away  to  break- 
flist  — after  we  had  another  drink  from  the 
third  bottle. 

I  can't  say  whether  I  did  whistle  or  did  not 
whistle  going  back.  After  breakfast  we  all 
went  over  to  the  funeral,  and  they  asked  me 
to  say  something  at  the  grave.  I  introduced 
my  travelling  companion,  who  had  been  a 
farmer  twenty  years  ago  in  Vermont,  where 
every  man  is  his  own  preacher;  and  he  put  up 
a  very  good  and  plausible  prayer. 

The  leader   stepped   over   to  where    I   was 


\ 


ii6 


FRO.VTIKR   STORIES 


Standing  and  handed  mc  a  piece  of  brown 
wrapping  paper,  on  which  some  verses  were 
written  in  a  dim,  Horace  Greeley  hand,  remark- 
ing, as  he  did  so,  that  he  reckoned  that  I  read 
writin'  all  right. 

"Gist  found  that  in  Doc's  pocket,"  he  said. 
"  Queerest  duck  you  ever  see  —  writin'  his  own 
funeral  song  — gist  'peared  to  know." 

While  we  were  thus  engaged  the  cowboys 
spread  a  new  Navajo  blanket  out  on  the  sand, 
placed  the  dead  body  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
folded  the  edges  over  so  as  to  hide  the  face 
and  feet.  A  saddle  rope  was  used  to  lower  the 
body  into  the  shallow  grave,  round  which  we 
stood  with  bare  heads,  our  broad  white  hats 
tossed  about  on  the  sand.  The  leader  of  the 
gang  led  the  singing,  and  the  rest  pushed  in  the 
chorus.  The  air  applied  was  plaintive  and 
pleading,  —  a  sort  of  mixture  of  negro  minstrel 
and  the  old  time  Methodist  revival  song,  and 
in  spite  of  the  pay-streak  of  pathos  which  the 
reader  will  doubtless  detect  in  the  word-work, 
there  were  moments  when  I  could  hardly  help 
laughing.  I  can't  remember  the  verses,  but 
this  is  the  chorus  :  — 


% 


A  con-Bors  fuxkral 


117 


"  Play  the  fife  slowly, 

And  beat  the  drum  lowly  ; 
Play  the  dead  march  as  I  'm' carried  along. 

Make  a  grave  in  the  desert 

And  pull  the  sand  o'er  me, 
I  'm  only  a  cowboy  - 1  know  I  've  done  wrong  " 


n 


JbalMIBrrcDtf 


r 


iil 


r 


.1- 


HALF-BREEDS. 


nnWENTY-FlVK  men  and  Hve  women  were 
A        living  at  Douglas  Lake,  K  C.     Some  had 
ferried  it  round  the  Horn  and  up  the  selvage  of 
the     Pacific.     Others    had    hauled    themselves 
across  the  country  behind  a  hull  team.     They 
were    cattle    men,    sheep     men    and     firmers. 
They  were  all  working  hard  to  build  up  a  home 
in  a  promising  country.     It  was  a  democratic 
community.     The  village  blacksmith  was  mayor 
of  the  town. 

A  Frenchman,  who  appears  to  have  had 
money,  had  gone  in  ahead  of  the  Canadian 
colon-,  roped  a  squaw,  and  reared  a  family. 
After  firewater,  French  blood  is  the  worst  thing 
that  can  be  mixed  up  with  Indians.  So  the 
Canadian  said,  and  I  believe  history  will  bear 
him  out.  Between  the  Frenchman  anrl  the 
squaw  four  boys  were  born,  and  they  appear 
to  have  been  bad  boys  from  the  beginning. 
When  the  youngest  was  only   14    they  stole  a 


12  2 


FRO.Wrr/CR   STORIF.S 


v< 


I) 

i 


rtii 


saddle  from  one  of  tlu;  cowboys,  and  tliry  m\'j}\\ 
as  well  have  taken  a  herd  of  calllc,  for  iluit 
would  not  make  a  cowboy  more  angry. 

A  warrant  was  issued  for  the  arrest  of  the 
four  boys,  two  other  half-breeds,  and  a  squaw, 
and  the  gang  began  to  hide  out.  They  evi- 
dently concluded  that  they  ought  to  do 
something  desperate,  for,  with  no  apparent 
provocation,  they  killed  an  inoffensive  shepherd 
and  put  themselves  on  the  defensive.  'I'he  con- 
stable at  Douglas  Lake,  who  had  just  brought  a 
young  wife  to  this  wild  country,  went  after  the 
murderers  of  the  shepherd,  and  when  he  had 
found  them  showed  more  sand  than  sense  by  at- 
tempting, single-handed  and  alone,  to  stand  the 
seven  up.  Of  course,  they  killed  the  constable, 
a  brave,  indiscreet,  but  useful  citizen. 

Now  the  whole  community  was  up  in  arms 
and  after  the  outlaws.  It  is  related  of  tlie  real 
Indians  that  they  took  their  guns  and  went  out 
to  help  the  people  to  punish  the  murderers. 
They  had  profited  by  the  presence  of  the  pale- 
faced  people,  for  they  had  given  the  Indians 
work,  but  they  had  no  use  for  the  half-breeds. 
The  desperadoes  started  to  leave  the  country. 


HALF-nREEDS 


123 


They  called  upon  one  of  the  farmers,  IxMiml 
iiiin  fast  in  liis  chair,  and  then  heli)ed  themselves 
to  whatever  they  wanted,  incliuling  horses.  In 
front  of  tiie  door  they  tlourished  their  firearms 
and  said,  "These  things"  (their  pistols)  "  will 
put  all  the  pale  faces  at  theleft  hand  of  Christ." 
The  leader,  one  of  the  sons  of  the  Frenchman, 
said  that  and  then  they  galloped  away. 

But  the  people  of  Douglas  Lake,  and  their 
Indian  allies,  galloped  after  them.  The  outlaws 
camped  that  night  in  an  old  cabi:i,  and  in  the 
morning  woke  to  find  the  place  surrounded  by 
desperate  men  —  white  and  red.  Occasionally 
a  head  would  appear  at  the  open  window  and  in- 
stantly a  bullet  would  peck  at  the  chinking.  If 
one  of  the  besiegers  showed  himself  carelessly, 
the  outlaws  would  take  a  shot  at  him  to  show 
that  they  were  armed. 

Nobody  cared  to  interview  the  inhabitants  of 
the  cabin,  and  the  people  determined  to  starve 
the  criminals  out.  A  leader  or  commander  was 
elected,  and  men  were  detailed  to  guard  the 
cabin  day  and  nighc.  Uncomplainingly  now, 
the  red  men  of  the  community  stood  watch 
with  the  whites.     On  the  third  day  an  Indian 


•■l 


;«i 


'  *i 


\ 


124 


j-'HiKV  TIE  R  s  roKi/:s 


•(\ 


left  the  besiegers  and  walked  deliberately,  un- 
armed, up  to  tlie  cabin.  lie  did  not  enter,  but 
called  upon  the  gang  to  surrender.  Tiie  lialf- 
brccds  seemed  much  surprised  that  the  Indians 
should  help  to  hunt  them  out.  They  doubtless 
reasoned  that  if  a  half-breed  could  hold  so 
much  cussedness  a  whole  Indian  ought  to  be 
beyond  redemption. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  leader.  '•  Here's  my  old 
friend  Jim,  come  with  the  rest  to  help  iiang 
me."  iiut  Jim  was  not  so  good  a  tViend  as  the 
half-breeds  had  thought  him.  I-'or  and  in  con- 
sideration of  $ioo  to  him  in  hand  paid,  this 
same  Jim  had  revealed  to  the  peoi)le  of  Douglas 
Lake  the  ])lans  of  the  half-breeds,  which  in- 
cluded the  killing  off  of  the  entire  white  pop- 
ulation. This  conclusion  had  been  reached 
immediately  after  the  killing  of  the  shepherd. 

It  was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth 
day  that  the  gang  came  out,  emptied  their 
revolvers,  tossed  them  in  a  heap  upon  the 
ground,  and  held  up  their  hands.  Hunger  and 
thirst  had  made  even  death  preferable  to  such 
torture,  and  so  the  gang  surrendered.  Here 
was  material  and  opportunity  for  an  interesting 


HALI'-BREEDS 


th 


•^ 


lynching.  The  [jrovocation  luul  been  great, 
but,  according  to  our  informant,  such  a  thing 
was  not  even  suggested.  Having  fed  and  wa- 
tered the  gang,  a  dej)Utation  of  citi/ens  —  tlie 
constable  having  been  killed  —  started  across 
the  country,  50  miles,  to  New  Westminster, 
wiiere  a  wiiole  week  was  wasted  in  the  trial 
of  the  murderers.  Two  of  the  four  brothers 
and  another  half-breed  were  hanged.  The 
other  three,  being  younger,  were  imi)risoned, 
and  the  squaw  set  free.  Having  spent  a  consid- 
erable part  of  his  fortune  in  a  bootless  effort  to 
save  the  necks  of  his  more  or  less  unlawful 
children,  the  old  Frenchman  went  back  to 
France  to  try  to  forget  it. 

And  that 's  the  way  the  Canadians  will  do 
in  the  Klondike.  The  dashing  desperado  will 
not  have  the  honor  of  being  shot.  Even  the 
famous  reformer,  Riel,  was  hanged  like  a  horse 
thief  at  the  end  of  a  rope.     Voila. 


f 


it 


\S 


f 


'i 


tl)e  gictiuctiijr  &ir.g>l)ootrr 


>/ 


^A 


,.•  I 


■/ 


i 


THE   SEDUCTIVE   SIX-SHOOTER. 


T)UTCHB:RS  are  not  allowed  to  serve  on  a 
J-'     coroner's  jury,  I  believe,  in  some  States, 
presumably  because  the  constant    shedding  of 
blood    hardens  the    human    heart.     Along  the 
same  line  of  reasoning  it   is  not  too  much   to 
say   that    with    the    constant   handling  of   fire- 
arms comes  a  desire  to  use  them  on  something 
or  somebotly.     With    much  use    one  becomes 
expert    with    the    six-shooter,    and    when    in 
trouble,  or  in  search  of  it,  such  an  one  reaches 
instinctively    for    his    firearms,    without    taking 
thought  of   the  consequences.     Instinctively  a 
man  defends  himself  with  that  which  is  most 
convenient.     A  negro  barber  turns  to  his  razor, 
a  cowboy  to  his  cartridge  belt,  a  soldier  to  his 
sword,   while  the   English   athlete  puts   up  his 
hands. 

Another  temptation  to  use  the  gun  comes 
with  the  feeling  of  security  that  pervades  the 
bosom  of  the   expert.     He  is  reasonably  sure 

9 


t 


»( 


11 


sf'1 


k' 


130 


J'hOyriEK  STORIES 


of  success  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  a 
novice. 

Having  "killed  his  man,"  the  killer  begins 
to  swagger,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  hastens 
to  repeat  the  performance.  Like  the  prize- 
fighter who  has  won  the  belt,  he  must  keep 
on  fighting  or  lose  his  reputation,  and  finally 
he  actually  goes  looking  for  trouble. 

Killing  becomes  a  disease.  Not  for  the 
sake  of  killing  merely  does  he  do  this,  but 
because  he  loves  the  excitement  of  fighting. 
I  asked  Bob  Ford,  who  had  clasped  left  hands 
with  a  Colorado  cowboy,  emptied  his  six- 
shooter  into  the  man,  and  taken  the  contents 
of  the  cowboy's  gun  into  his  system,  if  there 
was  not  a  suffocating  dread  of  being  torn  by 
the  bullet. 

"Well,  yes  —  at  first,"  said  he;  **  but  the 
moment  the  shooting  begins  you  become  drunk 
with  the  excitement  of  the  fight  and  the  smell 
of  powder,  and  all  thought  of  danger  blows 
by." 

Now,  this  fellow  had  been  a  quiet,  modest 
youth  up  to  the  evil  hour  in  which  he  was 
tempted  to  take  the  life  of  Jesse   James,  his 


THE   SEDUCTIVE   SIX-SHOOTER  I  31 


;st 
,'as 
lis 


\\ 


fricMid  and  benefactor.  James  had  taught  Ford 
the  use  of  the  fascinating  "  forty-five,"  with 
which  the  pupil  slew  the  teacher.  That  was 
the  beginning  of  Ford's  end.  He  gradually 
grew  in  "  cussedness "  until  he  had  acquired 
the  unenviable  reputation  of  being  a  bnd  man, 
and  was,  in  the  end,  himself  ignominiously 
murdered. 

Another  instance  in  which  the  seductive  six- 
shooter  led  a  man  astray  is  the  case  of  Frank 
Rand  of  Illinois.  I  say  of  Illinois  because  it 
was  in  th'it  btate,  near  the  little  town  of  Alti- 
mont,  that  he  wandered,  an  inoffensive  tramp, 
to  a  farmer's  house  one  morning  in  quest  of 
food.  The  farmer  lived  in  a  little  shack  on  the 
railroad,  on  a  bit  of  ground  alone.  He  was  n't 
polite  to  the  tramp,  and  the  tramp  resented 
the  insult.  The  farmer  so  forgot  himself  as  to 
kick  the  tramp,  and  the  tramp  pulled  his  gun 
and  killed  the  farmer.  A  gang  of  section  men 
saw  the  smoke,  heard  the  shot,  and  saw  the 
man  fall.  Lifting  the  car  to  the  track  they 
pumped  into  Altimont  and  gave  alarm. 

The  tramp  saw  the  car  go  and  guessed  the 
cause  of  it.     He  glanced  at  his  six-shooter  and 


A 


\ ' 


132 


FROXTIER  STORIES 


m 


1^ 


n 


i  ' 


felt  a  certain  security.  A  "  gcntlemun  of  the 
road  "  testified  afterward  that  he  had  tramped 
with  Rand  for  a  few  weeks  and  found  him  a 
most  agreeable  companion,  quiet  and  inoffen- 
sive. He  was  reasonably  honest,  the  man 
said.  The  only  thing  hn  had  known  Rand  to 
steal  was  food  and  cartridges.  If  he  could  not 
steal  ammunition  for  his  gun  he  would  beg 
money,  go  hungry,  and  buy  it.  As  often  as 
they  stopped  to  rest  Rand  took  his  six-shooter 
to  pieces,  cleaned  it  and  put  it  together  ngain. 
He  was  i  wonderful  shot.  He  could  kill  a 
farmer's  bull-dog  as  far  as  he  could  see  him. 
He  would  shoot  the  head  from  a  tame  pigeon 
at  the  top  of  a  country  church,  and  kill  brown 
birds  on  the  tops  of  telegraph  poles.  He 
never  missed  whatever  he  aimed  at. 

So  now,  when  he  saw  men  hurrying  out  from 
the  little  town,  afoot,  on  horseback,  and  in  top 
buggies,  he  made  no  doubt  they  were  after 
him.  He  kicked  out  the  empty  shell,  and 
put  in  a  fresh  cartridge.  Presently  a  horse 
leai)cd  the  low  hedge,  and  came  straight  for 
the  tramp,  who  was  heading  for  some  willows 
down   by   a  little    stream.     The    man   on   the 


THE  si:  DUCT  in:  six  shooter 


K^?> 


horse  called  to  the  man  who  was  running 
across  the  stubble  to  stop.  For  answer,  Rand 
turned  slightly,  but  without  slacking  his  pace, 
and  aimed  at  the  horseman.  There  was  a  \>\\{i 
of  smoke  from  the  tramp's  pistol,  the  horse 
plunged  high,  and  then  fell  dead  in  the  field, 
shot  square  between  the  eyes.  The  rider  got 
to  his  feet,  glanced  at  his  poor  dead  horse, 
and  ran  after  the  flying  tramp.  Others  came 
up,  saw  the  wound  in  the  horse's  head,  and 
considered  it  only  a  chance  shot.  No  one 
thought  for  a  moment  that  Rand  had  aimed 
it  so.  iw  a  little  while  they  chased  the  fugi- 
tive out  of  the  willows  and  across  an  open 
field.  A  man  with  a  swift  horse  rode  round 
the  field,  dismounted,  and  stood  upon  a  little 
culvert  over  which  the  tramj)  must  pass. 
Rand,  running  straight  fi)r  the  man,  who  held 
the  bridge  antl  a  double-barreled  shotgun, 
called  to  him  and  signalled  to  him  with  his 
six-shooter.  Rut  the  man  held  his  place. 
"Stand  aside!"  he  shouted.  The  man  delib- 
erately raised  his  shotgun.  Without  stopping, 
Rand  cut  loose  at  the  man.  He  threw  up  his 
hands,    waved    his    gun    above    his    head,    and 


134 


FROXTIEK  STORIES 


1 


I  ;  » 


IS 


if      ^ 


then,  as  Rand  went  by,  topi)le(l  over  into  the 
ditch.  Still  running,  the  outlaw  heard  a  rifle 
crack  close  behind  him,  and  the  whine  of  a 
bullet  that  whistled  by.  (ilancing  back,  he 
saw  a  man  standing  on  the  line  fence,  aiming 
another  shot  at  him.  Again  the  toy  gun 
cracked,  and  the  man,  who  had  his  feet  in 
the  top  crack  of  the  fence,  pitched  forward 
into  the  field. 

Now,  when  the  pursuing  party  came  up  anil 
saw  the  two  men  hit  as  the  horse  had  been 
hit,  plump  between  the  eyes,  their  hearts  stood 
still.  What  devil  was  this,  at  the  crook  of 
whose  finger  men  dropped  dead?  It  is  all 
very  well  to  go  in  pursuit  of  an  outlaw,  a  mur- 
derer, but  few  men  care  to  face  a  fiend  of  this 
sort,  even  to  avenge  the  death  of  a  neighbor, 
or  bring  the  guilty  to  book.  Life  is  sweet. 
The  pursuing  party  parleyed,  and  Rand  ran 
away. 

A  mile  down  the  road  he  saw  a  boy  riding  a 
good  horse.  He  stopped  the  boy  and  told  him 
hurriedly  that  a  man  had  been  shot  down  the 
road  and  that  he  was  running  for  a  doctor. 
To  hasten  matters  he  borrowed  the  boy's  horse 


(. 


\<.\ 


THE   SEDUCTIVE   SIX-SHOOTER 


35 


and  sent   the   l)i)y  on   to   tell   the   people  who 
were  waiting  there  abt)ut  it. 

Now,  when  they  had  heard  what  the  boy  had 
to  say  they  knew  that  Rand  had  five  miles  the 
start  of  them,  that  he  could  change  horses  as 
often  as  he  cared  to,  and  so  they  gave  up  the 
chase.  I  dare  say  many  of  them  were  glad  of 
the  excuse. 

As  hard  luck,  or  a  dislike  for  honest  toil,  had 
made  a  tramp,  so  now  did  the  seductive  six- 
shooter  make  a  murderer  and  an  outlaw. 
There  was  nothing  for  him  now  but  to  fight 
it  out  to  the  end.  Our  ilcsperado  made  his 
way  to  St,  Louis,  where  he  met  the  old  pal 
with  whom  he  had  tramped  through  Illinois. 
To  his  comrade  he  said  nothing  of  the  blood 
that  was  on  his  hands.  One  day  when  the 
two  men  were  in  a  pawnshop,  a  couple  of 
officers  in  citizens'  clothes  entered  the  place. 
One  of  the  men,  a  powerful  young  man, 
who  had  spotted  Rand,  sprang  upon  the  des- 
perado and  bore  him  to  the  floor.  Rand  was 
short,  but  powerfully  built,  and  he  gave  the 
officer  a  hard  run.  At  last  he  lay  quiet  for 
a  moment,  then  turning  he  looked  toward  the 


I 


/: 


y\ 


I. 


ly> 


I'Roxrir.R  sTORtrs 


".) 


other  offirer,  who  was  stniggling  with  the 
harmless  but  tlioroughly  frightened  tramp,  and 
called  excitedly  to  the  man  who  was  holding 
him.  "  Look  out  there  !  "  he  shouted.  '*  Help 
your  partner !  " 

'l"hc  officer,  being  off  his  guard,  and  having 
already  removed  Rand's  murderous  six-shooter, 
turned  to  sec  how  his  brother  officer  was  get- 


illed  a  (1( 


ting  on.  Quick  as  a  flash  R;ind  pulled  a  der- 
ringer from  his  vest  pocket  and  drilled  a  big 
hole  through  one  of  the  bravest  and  most 
poi)ular  officers  on  the  St.   Louis  force. 

'I'he  shot,  however,  di"(  not  i)rove  instantly 
fatal,  and  with  the  help  that  came  to  him 
the  wounded  man  was  able  to  disarm  the 
desperado. 

After  suffering  indescribable  agony  for  a  few 
days,  the  officer  died. 

I  forget  what  they  did  with  Rand,  but  if  you 
ask  any  man  who  lived  in  St.  Louis  a  quarter  of 
a  century  ago,  he  can  tell  you. 

The  purpose  of  this  story  is  to  point  a  moral. 
Roy,  whoever  you  may  be,  wherever  you  roam- 
fight  shy  of  the  seductive  six-shooter. 


\\' 


\\  i 


tl)c  Brahcniau  ano  tl)t  &({um 


h 


M 


m 


ij  i 


I 


t 


THE  DRAKEMAN  AND  THE  SQUAW. 

HERIC  is  a  story  of  the  l)uil(linfj;  of  ;i  branch 
line  on  a  mountain  railroad.  Con- 
ductor Mc(juir(.',  bciui;  a  new  man,  was  in 
charge  of  the  construction  train,  with  engineer 
Wescott  in  charge  of  the  engine. 

N.  C.  Crecde,  aftcrwaid  famous  as  the 
founder  of  Crcedc  camp,  luid  located  the 
Madonna  mine  at  Monarch  camp,  and  created 
a  necessity  f(jr  the  branch  road.  'I'hey  had 
rushed  the  work,  Dut  the  first  snow  caught  tliem 
still  three  miles  from  the  booming  silver  camp. 
A  wandering  band  of  Indians,  hearing  of  the 
excitement,  and  not  understanding  it,  had 
strayed  into  the  Monarch  country,  and  down 
the  gulch  as  far  as  Maysville,  then  a  wild  and 
thriving  village  at  the  edge  of  the  Arkansas 
valley.  One  day,  when  it  was  storming,  an  old 
squaw  came  to  McGuire,  and  wanted  a  rick- 
up  the  hill.     It  was  a  cruel  day,  and  the  k'nd- 


n 


li 


140 


FRO. Y TIER  STORIES 


;  I 


'.  fi 


hearted  conductor  carried  the  Indian  to  the 
end  of  the  track. 

It  was  a  niontli  later  wlicn  one  of  McCluirc's 
brakenien,  named  IJowen,  wlio  had  bt;en  hunt- 
ing in  the  iiills,  ruslied  into  the  cal)0('se  with 
the  sturthng  announcement  tliat  his  partner,  the 
head  brakeman,  liad  been  captured  by  the 
Indians. 

"  Look  here,  Jack,"  said  McGuirc,  "arc  you 
lying?" 

"  Tloncst  Injun  !  "  said  Jack  ;  "  if  there  's  one 
there  's  a  million  ;  and  they've  got  Mickey  tied 
to  a  stake.  We  had  become  separated  I  was 
standing  on  a  ])re(  ipice,  looking  for  Mickey, 
when  I  saw  the  Indians  surround  him." 

"  Now,  Jack  Dowcn  h  ul  lied  so  luminously 
and  so  fre([uentlv  to  the  conductor  that  the 
latt' r  Vvus  slow  to  jielifve  this  wild  tale;  l)ut 
finally  he  was  persuaded  that  it  was  true.  Re- 
turning ;o  Maysville  with  the  engine,  iu'  gave 
the  alarm,  and  the  sheriff  of  Chaffee  County 
made  up  a  posse  and  set  out  in  search  of  the 
brakeman. 

The  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  range 
when  the  engine  and  the  caboose  full  of  amateur 


THE   BRAKE  MAN  AX/)    VV/E   S(JL'A  IT 


141 


isly 
the 
but 
^le- 
:ive 
iiUy 
the 

inc;c 
Leur 


i 


I 


Indian  fighters  returned  to  the  end  of  tlie 
track.  Taking  Uowen  as  guide,  the  sheriff 
scoured  the  hills,  but  found  no  trace  of  the 
missing  man.  'llie  storm  increased  with  the 
darkness,  and  the  sheriff's  posse  was  forced  to 
return  to  camp.  It  were  useless  to  put  out 
again  in  the  face  of  such  a  storm,  and  the 
sheriff  was  about  to  return  to  Maysville,  when 
the  old  squaw  whom  McCiuire  had  helped  up 
the  hill  put  her  head  in  at  the  door  of  the 
way  car  and  signalled  McCvuire  to  come  out. 
She  could  scarcely  speak  a  word  of  luiglish,  but, 
pulling  at  the  conductor's  sleeve,  she  started 
as  though  she  would  lead  !iim  into  the  hills. 
As  often  as  McGuire  would  stop,  the  squaw 
would  stop.  He  tried  to  persuade  her  into  the 
car,  but  she  would  not.  Now  the  sheriff  came 
out,  and  when  he  saw  the  signals  of  the  squaw 
he  guessed  that  she  would  lead  them  to  the 
captive ;  and  when  Mc(iuire  had  told  him  how 
he  had  helped  this  Indian  on  her  w;i\  up  the 
hill  in  a  storm,  he  knew  that  the  Indian  was 
trying  to  repay  the  conductor  for  his  kindness. 
The  unfortunate  brakcman,  McGuire  explained, 
had    given    the    Indian   tobacco   and  whiskey ; 


•  1 1 


142 


J'lWX TIER   S TORIES 


I 


thcrcfi)rc   she  would  not    see  him  die  withuut 
making  an  effort  to  save  him. 

The  sheriff  called  his  deputies,  and  taking  a 
half-dozen  volunteers  from  Garfield  camp,  made 
sign  to  the  Indian  and  followed  her  away  into 
the  wilderness  of  snow-hung  pine  and  cedar. 
Now  and  then  the  squaw  would  pause  to  get 
her  bearings.  The  snow  had  ceased  falling 
and  the  stars  were  out.  After  tram})ing  for  an 
hour  or  more,  the  Indian  signed  to  the  sheriff 
to  stay,  and  then  disappeared  into  a  cedar 
grove.  Presently  she  returned  and  led  them 
to  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Just  below  them, 
in  a  litde  basin,  they  could  see  a  pine  fire 
burning  and  Indians  dancing  in  the  light  of  it. 
Sitting  upon  the  snow  hard  by,  they  saw  the 
brakeman  with  his  fettered  hands  over  his 
knees  and  his  head  bent  forward  like  a  man 
nodding  in  a  pew.  The  sheriff  asked  the  Indian 
to  lead  them  on,  and  she  made  sign  that  they 
must  go  far  around,  for  the  bluff  was  steep,  and 
they  followed  her.  They  had  been  a  half-hour 
out  of  sight  of  the  Indian  camp,  but  always 
going  down  and  down,  so  they  knew  now  they 
must  be  near.     When  they   had   gone  wdthin 


I 


)ur 

|\ys 

liin 


77/ A'   HRAK'EMA.\'  AXD    THE   SQUAll^        1 43 

one  hundred  yards  of  the  Indians,  who  had  not 
heard  them  walking  upon  the  muffled  earth, 
they  stopped  to  discuss  the  work  that  was 
before  them.  The  Indian,  putting  her  hand 
on  the  sheriff's  rifle,  pushed  it  to  the  ground 
and  shook  her  head,  meaning  that  she  would 
not  have  them  kill  the  Indians,  whom  they 
outnumbered  two  to  one.  The  sheriff  was  at 
a  loss  to  understand  how  he  was  to  capture 
this  band  without  firing,  for  he  had  no  doubt 
the  Indians  would  fire  upon  him  the  moment 
they  caught  sight  of  him.  But  the  squaw  was 
equal  to  the  emergency.  She  began  to  form 
the  men  in  two  lines.  Taking  hold  of  their 
coats  she  would  place  a  man  on  the  right  flank 
and  another  on  the  left,  until  she  had  divided 
the  sheriff's  posse.  She  then  placed  the 
sheriff  at  the  head  of  one  column  and  the  con- 
ductor, whom  she  regarded  as  a  sort  of  captain, 
at  the  other,  and  then  made  sign  to  them  to 
go  forward,  one  half  to  the  right  and  the  other 
to  the  left.  Then  she  made  it  plain  to  them 
that  she  would  have  them  surround  the  Indians. 
She  brought  her  two  bony  hands  together  slowly, 
with  the  fingers  spread  out,  and  when  they  were 


Hi 


■    '   ; 


u\ 


,t^ 


144 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


V 

[If 


(juite  together  she  closed  her  fists.  So  the 
sheriff  made  out  she  would  have  them  steal 
upon  the  Indians  and  disarm  them  or  awe 
them  into  surrendering  at  the  muzzles  of  their 
guns,  and  he  gave  instructions  to  the  men 
accordingly.  Of  course  each  individual  must 
now  use  his  judgment,  and  so  the  little  band 
surrounded  the  Indians.  In  the  u.jantime  the 
squaw  stole  into  the  cami)  and  squatted  near 
the  fire.  As  the  sheriff's  men  closed  in  upon 
the  Indians  the  squaw  leaped  to  her  feet  and 
put-  out  a  hand  as  a  signal  for  the  band  to  be 
still.  The  Indians  listened,  but  the  sheriff's 
men,  seeing  it  all,  stood  still  in  the  snow.  Now 
the  squaw  spoke  to  the  Indians,  saying  that  she 
had  seen  a  great  many  soldiers  coming  down 
the  hill  that  evening  and  giving  it  as  her  opinion 
that  the  camp  would  be  surrounded  and  that 
if  the  Indians  resisted  they  would  all  be  killed. 
When  she  had  succeeded  in  persuading  them 
that  it  would  be  best  to  surrender  in  case  the 
soldiers  should  come,  she  sat  down  again.  This, 
the  sheriff  concluded,  was  a  signal  for  the  men 
to  advance,  and  the  jiosse  moved  forv.'ard. 
When  they  were  quite  near,  the  Indians  were 


T 


-   XM 


lat 
(1. 
nn 
le 
lis, 
en 

rd. 

:re 


T/J/C   PRAKICMAX  AXD    THE   SQUAW        1 45 

made  aware  of  their  presence  by  the  snai)i)ing 
of  a  dry  cedar-bough,  and  the  sheriff,  knowing 
that  dehiy  would  be  dangerous,  shouted  to  his 
posse  to  advance.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice 
the  Indians  sprang  for  their  rifles,  but  when 
they  had  got  them  and  got  to  their  feet  again 
the  sheriff's  posse,  coming  out  of  tlie  woods 
from  every  direction,  held  the  glittering  steel 
barrels  of  their  rifles  in  the  glare  of  the  camp- 
fire,  and  the  Indians  laid  down  their  arms. 

The  brakeman,  who  had  concluded  that  he 
was  to  be  butchered  or  roasted,  was  almost 
wild  with  joy.  When  asked  by  the  sheriff  why 
they  held  the  brakeman,  the  leader  said  the 
white  man  was  lost ;  they  found  him,  and  were 
only  waiting  for  daylight,  when  they  would  take 
him  back  to  his  ])eoi)le  and  get  "  heap  rum." 
The  sheriff  pointed  to  the  white  man's  fettered 
hands  and  asked  the  Indian  to  explain  ;  and  the 
Indian  said  that  the  man  was  "  heap  mad,"  and 
they  wert  afraid  that  if  they  left  his  hands  loose 
he  would  take  their  guns  and  kill  them  while 
they  slept,  and  if  they  left  his  feet  unfettered 
he  would  wander  away  in  the  storm  and  be 
lost. 

10 


i 


( •* 


146 


FROXTIKR  STORIES 


After  coiibulting  the  conductor  and  the  more 
imj)ortant  members  of  the  posse,  the  sheriff 
conckulcd,  as  it  was  manifest  that  the  Indians 
were  only  holding  the  brakeman  for  ransom, 
that  he  would  allow  them  to  go  their  way,  after 
exacting  a  promise  that  they  would  return  at 
once  to  their  reservation  on  the  other  side  of 
the  range. 


l^osfeannmi 


^M 


l^ 


f 


'S   •• 


" 


I- 


HOSKANINNI. 

IT  was  along  in  the  seventies  that  Cass  Hitc,  a 
fearless  adventurer,  drifietl  into  the  Navajo 
reservation.  The  prospector's  attention  was 
attracted  by  the  splendid  ornaments  worn  by 
tlie  Indians,  most  of  them  hamnuTcd  from 
pure  horn  silver.  Hite  began  to  cultivate  the 
ac(iuaintance  of  Moskaninni,  who  was  not  long 
in  office,  having  murdered  his  uncle,  a  thor- 
oughly bad  Indian,  to  get  the  position  of  chief 
of  the  Western  tribe.  He  gathered  from  the 
chief  that  the  Indians  owned  a  mine  called  the 
"  Peso-Ia-ki,"  wiiere  native  silver  grew  on  every 
shelf. 

He  learned,  also,  that  the  hulians  had  quarried 
all  the  silver  that  was  in  sight,  and  that  the 
mine  could  be  bought. 

In  time  an  agreement  was  reached.  Hos- 
kaninni  was  to  show  the  Peso-la-ki  mine  to  the 
Hosteen  Peso-la-ki  (white  silver  hunter)  for 
200O  pesos  —  2000  pieces  of  silver. 


*  I 


1 


I      t 


.'1 


•5^5 


/•'ROxrir.K  srou//:s 


Ho.skaniniii  had   paid  so  niucli   attention  to 


the  white  man  that  the   ir'  i 


ns  btjgan  to  guess 


that  something  was  up,  ■  d  when  a  council 
was  calleil  (or  the  purpose  of  discussing  the 
proposed   sale    of   the    silver    mine,   there    was 


already 


I  strong  silver  sentiment  antagonistic  to 


the  chief. 

Tlie  council  was  called  to  meet  at  Hoska- 
ninni's  hogan,  and  on  the  day  designated  the 
braves  came  sullenly  and  scjuatted  upon  the 
ground. 

The  head  Indian,  in  a  77777  tvcy  me:;sage  to 
the  house,  stated  the  object  of  the  meeting, 
and  followed  with  a  very  plausible  plea  for  the 
sale  of  the  I'eso-la-ki  to  the  white  man.  In 
addition  to  the  2000  pesos,  they  would  have 
the  advantage  of  learning  from  their  i)ale  friend 
how  to  mine  ;  they  could  find  other  valuable 
mines  and  become  rich  and  respectable. 
While  he  anticipated  no  danger  from  this 
arrangement,  it  was  his  intention,  nevertheless, 
to  appoint  a  sub-chief  to  assist  him  in  protect- 
ing his  tribe,  and  a  second  assistant,  who  would 
look  after  the  mine  to  ^o.c  that  the  white  man 
took  no   more   land  than  he  was   entitled   to. 


^  / 


I/OSKAXIX.V 


»5i 


this 

.'SS, 


Inn 
to. 


Ivich  of  these  officers  would  be  assisted  by  six 
braves  selected  by  the  liead  cliief.  All  these 
men  would  be  mounted  on  Mormon  horses, 
known  as  Mountain  meadow  stock,  and  armed 
with  the  best  rifles  that  money  could  buy. 

A  few  ambitious  braves,  da/./led  by  the  graml 
parade  of  horses  and  ritles,  fell  into  the  tra[)  of 
the  wily  chief,  and  signified  their  willingness  to 
serve. 

Hoskaninni  was  something  of  a  fighter,  and 
made,  at  all  times,  a  beautiful  bluff;  and  when 
Nevada  Bill,  a  half-breed,  stood  up  to  oppose 
the  sale  of  the  mine,  the  chief  whipped  out  his 
hatchet,  and  was  about  to  cut  the  warrior  off  at 
the  hip  pockets,  when  half  a  dozen  braves 
sprang  between  them. 

Hitc  at  this  point  matle  a  medicine  talk,  in 
which  he  counselled  peace;  the  chief  talked 
more  mildly  now,  but  they  would   not  have  it. 

Another  brave  took  the  fioor  and  matle  a 
manly  plea  for  his  people. 

His  argument  was  to  the  effect  that  while 
Hoskaninni  had  been  chosen  chief  partly  be- 
cause he  had  dared  to  remove  a  man  much 
meaner,     if    possible,    than    him:jelf,    he     had 


f 


I 


152 


fro.\'tii:k  s/oku:s 


pledged  himself  lo  protect  the  people  and 
their  property,  lie  told,  almost  in  tears,  how 
their  grandtalhers  iiad  suffered  at  the  hands  of" 
the  Spaniards  on  the  big  water.  "The  smooth 
trail  travelled  by  1  loskaninni,"  said  he,  -'our 
fathers  bla/ed  witli  bleeding  feet.  'Ihey  were 
slaves ;  they  fought  and  gave  us  freedom,  and 
I,  for  one,  will  not  submit  silently  to  be  bound 
and  branded  like  a  maverick. 

"Hardly  has  the  paint  dried  up  on  the 
splendid  plumage  of  our  icw  chief,  when  we 
find  him  betraying  his  i)eople  to  the  pale-face. 
It  is  an  emi)ty  lujnor  to  be  called  in  council  if 
the  W(jrds  are  to  be  put  into  our  mouths  — 
what  we  shall  say.  Wuh  !  I  am  ashamed  to  be 
called  a  red  man;"  and  the  outraged  Indian 
strode  from  the  tent. 

1  loskaninni  made  another  play  with  his 
tomahawk  when  the  back  of  the  speaker  was 
turned,  but  a  do/en  hands  were  lifted  against 
him  and  the  angry  chief  backed   down. 

Another  noble  red  man  took  the  lloor,  and 
as  he  i)roceeded  the  excitement  rose  lo  fever 
heat. 

''When  a  chief  was  chosen,"  he  began,  "I 


f/OSK'A  XlXXf 


»53 


hi 


was  in  fivor  of  a  wisvT  ami  n  better  brave  — 
one  who  had  been  trieil  for  twenty  dozen 
moons  and  who  was  always  to  the  front  witli 
Hying  pUnnes  wlien  his  people  needed  his  ser- 
^  ire.  Brave  and  just,  fearless,  but  friendly  to 
otiier  tribes,  his  own  people  never  lost  their 
rightful  place  in  his  heart.  If  now  he  looked 
from  the  hills  of  the  happy  hunting-grounds 
his  wratu  wi)uld  break  the  locks  upon  his  lips 
and  his  brave  spirit  would  cry  out :  *  llegonc, 
ye  gray  spitlers,  who  seek  to  take  from  my 
people  that  which  was  given  them  by  the  (Ireat 
Father,  llegone,  ye  squaws  !  Your  ears  are 
tickled  with  the  ai)plause  of  strange  tribes,  but 
deaf  to  the  appeals  of  your  own  i)e()plc.' 

"So  would  he  say  —  so  would  he  rebtike 
the  coyotes  who  lick  the  feet  of  a  fat  master  for 
a  stout  cayuse  or  a  silver-mounted  saddle. 
Dogs!  ye  make  me  tired."  And  another  war- 
rior went  out  into  the  sage  brush  and  the  night. 

Hite  looked  at  Hoskaninni,  and  lioskaninni 
looked  at  Hite.  'ri-.ey  sat  in  silence  for  some 
time  ;  then  Mite  rose  up,  put  on  his  guns,  and 
said,  *'  I  will  go." 

"  You  will  not,"  said  the  chief.     "  You  will 


^ 


154 


rRo.yn/:R  stoi^if.'?, 


h\- 


st.iy   to-night   with   mc  ;    they   will    not  molest 
yon  while  you  are  my  guest." 

'I'ill  late  at  night  the  old  chief  paced  the 
floor  with  heavy  arms  about  him,  fearful  that 
his  people  might  demand  the  white  man,  and 
determined  to  defend  him  even  to  the  extent 
of  risking  his  kingdom  and  his  life. 

At  the  dawn  Mite  was  awakened  by  the  old 
chief,  and  U)oking  out  between  the  blankets 
that  served  as  a  door  to  the  house,  they  saw 
three  hundred  [)onies  tied  to  the  sage  brush 
about  the  camp. 

**  See,"  said  Hoskaninni,  "  their  backs  are 
bare ;  Navajos  go  to  war  with  no  saddles. 
My  people  will  fight  for  the  Peso-la-ki.  I  will 
show  you  the  mine,  as  I  hav"  promised,  then 
you  must  look  out  for  yourself,  for  we  shall 
surely  be  killed.  My  people  believe  that  if 
the  white  man  is  allowed  to  dig  in  our  country 
we  shall  be  made  slaves,  as  the  Utes  were 
enslaved  by  the  Spaniards  on  the  big  water." 

Kite  said  no,  he  would  not  purchase  Peso 
with  his  brother's  blood,  and  Hoskaninni  was 
willing  to  let  it  go  at  that  and  continue  to  reign 
over  the  Navajos. 


II OS K A  XI XX I 


DD 


Hite  succeeded  in  leaving  the  land  of  IIos- 
kaninni  with  his  scalp,  but  the  friendship  of  the 
old  Indian  endured  initil  the  day  he  died. 

Just  before  Hoskaninni's  death  Hite  had  the 
misfortune  to  kill  a  man  at  (iieen  River,  Utah, 
for  which  he  was  sentenced  to  a  short  term  in 
a  Salt  Lake  prison. 

During  Hite's  absence  from  his  cabin  on  the 
Colorado  River  his  old  friend  called  to  pay 
him  a  visit.  The  Navajo  explained  to  Hite's 
brother  that  he  was  growing  old  and  that  he 
wished  to  do  something  for  his  pale  friend, 
"  Hostecn-pesoda-ki,"  as  he  called  him,  before 
he  died,  and  with  that  end  in  view  he  had  brought 
a  fine  squaw  to  be  the  wife  of  the  white  man. 

Upon  learning  that  Hite  was  languishing  in 
prison,  all  because  he  had  siiot  a  hole  in  a 
man's  heart  with  a  six-shooter  when  that  same 
man  was  shooting  at  him  with  a  ritle,  Hoska- 
ninni  grew  furious.  He  gave  a  good  illustration 
of  his  innocence  and  loyalty  when  he  demanded 
to  know  why  they  did  not  get  Hite  out  of  prison. 

"  JJut  we  can't,"  said  the  brother  of  the  con- 
demned man. 

'*  Have  you  trietl?"  asked  the  Indian. 

"  No." 


II 


156 


FRO\  TIE R   S  TORIES 


"Then  how  do  you  know  you  can't  do? 
Hoskaninni  will  try.  Maybe  so  git  kill,  but  he 
try,  all  same." 

It  required  a  great  deal  of  talk  to  persuade 
the  old  chief  to  return  to  his  reservation  instead 
of  moving  upon  the  government  prison  at  Salt 
Lake. 

The  fact  that  Hite  was  pardoned  after  serv- 
ing a  few  months  probably  never  came  to  the 
ears  of  Hoskaninni,  for  the  hand  of  death  had 
touched  him,  and  he  had  already  gone  to  his 
own  place. 

The  only  thing  this  chief  feared  was  water. 
He  invariably  stripped  naked  when  entering  a 
canoe  or  boat  to  cross  a  river,  and  when  seen 
thus  he  gave  one  the  belief  that  he  had  spent 
most  of  his  life  leaning  against  a  barbed-wire 
fence.  Upon  either  thigli  he  had  countless 
scars,  as  though  he  had  been  whipped  with  a 
flax  hackle.  They  were  wounds  made  by 
arrows  and  bullets  that  he  had  received  when 
riding  in  a  circle  round  the  enemy  with  his 
body  hanging  over  the  side  of  his  pony. 

Tn  1892,  when  in  the  reservation,  we  made  an 
effort  to  see  the  famous  warrior,  who  is  said  to 


r  f 


HOSKA  XIXXI 


157 


have  been  the  only  chief  who  did  not  surrender 
to  the  United  States  Government  in  tlie  war  of 
1 866.  A  Navajo  assured  us  that  he  would  take  us 
to  the  hogan  of  Hoskaninni  in  two  sleeps,  for 
which  he  demanded  ten  pesos.  We  made  him 
understand  that  we  had  learned  that  Hoska- 
ninni was  dead.  "  Si,"  said  the  Indian,  and 
taking  a  miner's  shovel  from  one  of  our  party, 
he  made  a  grave  about  two  inches  deep  in  the 
sand,  lay  down  in  it,  crossed  his  hands,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  said,  "Si,  all  same  Hoskaninni  — 
mucho  sleepa  six  moon."  And  we  decided 
not  to  wake  him. 

Although  he  has  been  dead  but  a  little  while, 
the  Indians  have  a  very  pretty  story  of  his 
going  away.  I'hey  assured  us  that  on  his 
deathbed  he  made  a  solemn  vow  to  guard  the 
trail  that  leads  from  the  province  of  the  pale- 


face to  the  land  of  the  Navajo.  It  is  in  the 
fullfilment  of  this  promise,  the  natives  say,  that 
the  ghost  of  Hoskaninni  gallops  nightly  down 
Tickaboo  canon,  — 

That  every  night,  at  midnight, 

As  the  winds  go  wailing  by, 
Kides  the  ghost  of  Hoskaninni 

'Gainst  the  Ilosteen-Pes'-laki. 


\ 


I 


1 


.  I 


i  \ 


<'    i 


M 


^tchaboo 


'ii 


*(•' 


TICKABOO. 

'I   7']":RY  many  years  ago  the  Spaniards  lived 
>         on  the  Cok)rad()  River  and  the  Navajos 
claim  that  their  fore- Indians  used   to  work  as 
slaves  in  the  once  famous  Josephine  mine  and 
that  their  grandmothers  rocked  the  cradles  of 
the  Spaniards  and  washed  L;old  by  the  banks  of 
the  big  water.     A  Si)aniard  wrote  to  a  friend  in 
Spain    that    there    was    wealth    enough    in    the 
Josephine  to  make  the  Catholic  world  indepen- 
dently  rich.     A   smart    old   chief  enlisted   the 
services  of  a  number  of  tribes  and  made  war  on 
the  Spaniards,  who  were  driven   from    the  big 
water  and  comi)elled  to  give  up  their  slaves.  ■ 

One  of  the  stipulations  of  the  treaty  was  that 
the  Spaniards  should  cover  all  traces  of  the 
mine  and  leave  it  forever. 

Some  fifty  years  ago  two  .\[ormon  boys  were 
sent  to  live  with  these  Indians  on  the  Colorado  ; 
the  main  object  of  the  elders  was  to  have  the 
boys  learn  the  language  and  ways  of  the  red 

II 


M 


M  Wv'- 


^iP^,  ■■  -v^j. 


162 


jAuw /•//■: /■:  sn)K//:\ 


r;\ 


man  that  tliey  might  be  used  in  the  work  of 
Christianizing  the  tribes,  in  acconhmce,  of 
course,  with  the  bo(jk  of  Mormon.  For  a 
time  the  children  suffered  greatly,  but  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years  they  became  as  hard  and 
hardy  as  the  red  man. 

Old  Tickaboo,  the  Ute  chief,  was  very  kind 
to  the  p  ,.'e  children  in  many  ways.  In  lime  of 
Wci,  .::  i  ^  •  diem  away  in  the  hills,  and  in  time 
of  p-".ce  h  ,ode  with  them  in  the  l^tah  vales, 
and  taught  their  young  ideas  how  to  shoot. 
The  Indians  were  extremely  jealous  of  the  white 
boys,  and  as  the  years  went  by  and  the  boys 
grew  to  be  men  they  began  to  be  regarded  as 
real  Indians,  and  only  the  older  warriors  who 
remembered  how  tenderly  they  were  cared  for 
by  the  chief  looked  ui)on  them  with  jealous 
eyes. 

One  of  the  boys,  Shirtz  by  name,  was  a 
special  favorite  of  Tickaboo,  who  was  now  a 
very  old  Indian.  Many  times  he  had  told  his 
white  friend  the  story  of  the  lost  mine  ;  how  his 
mother  and  his  mother's  mother  had  worked 
there  as  slaves.  Often  Shirtz  urged  the  old 
man  to  show  him  where  the  mine  was  buried, 


TICK  A  POO 


16 


but  the  superstitious  Indian  saiil  tliat  the  ghosts 
of  dead  braves  were  there  and  that  they  must 
not  be  (listurl)ed. 

Shirtz  was  a  bearded  man  and  there  were 
streaks  of  silver  in  his  soft  black  hair  when  at 
last  'I'ickaboo  promised  to  show  him  the  grave  i>f 
the  J()sei)hinc.  It  was  in  the  early  autumn  when 
the  two  men,  with  a  trusty  Indian  cook  and  a 
while  friend  of  Shirt;:,  set  out  in  search  of  the 
longdost  mine.  Miles  and  miles  of  these  sand- 
stone mountains  along  the  Colo,  d-  River  are 
entirely  barren  of  vegetation,  and  ,vater  is 
equally  scarce. 

The  little  band  of  explorers  c.idured  many 
hardships,  and  at  one  time,  a  'r  travelling  two 
whole  days  without  water,  the  old  chief  lay 
down  to  die.  The  Indian  eye  of  Shirtz  found 
a  narrow  trail  maile  by  mountain  sheep  going 
down  to  drink.  After  following  the  trail  for  an 
hour  he  came  to  a  pool  of  pure  water  standing 
in  a  basin-shaped  sand  rock.  They  are  called 
tanks  in  that  country  and  that  one  is  kn(;wn  to 
the  cowboys  as  Tickaboo  tank.  To  this  pool 
they  carried  the  almost  heljjless  form  of  the  old 
chief  and  nursed  him  back  to  life. 


i 


'      ' 


164 


FROXTIER   STOR!F.S 


'I'licy  h.id  been  in  camp  nearly  a  week  wait- 
ing for  the  old  man  to  get  strong  enough  to 
resume  the  journey  in  search  of  the  hidden 
treasure,  when  one  afternoon  Tickaboo  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  canon  wall  and  stood  looking 
with  shaded  eyes  toward  the  setting  sun.  'ihcn 
he  beckoned  Shirl/,  and  Shirtz  went  up  and  stood 
by  the  old  chief  and  gazed  over  the  waste  of 
wind-s\vei)t  njck. 

Just  in  front  of  them,  a  little  to  the  north  of 
the  sunset,  they  saw  the  snowy  sunnnit  of  the 
Henry  mountains. 

"  Yonder,"  said  the  old  chief,  i)ointing  to  the 
west,  "  lies  the  Josephine,  lost  among  the 
twisted  Iiills.  There  are  the  graves  of  my 
])eoj)1e,  and  the  white  peaks  are  the  monuments 
put  there  by  tiie  (Ireat  Father  to  mark  the 
place.  One  more  sleep,  my  son,  and  Tickaboo 
will  show  you  great  mine." 

When  the  two  men  came  down  to  camp 
Shirtz  related  to  his  white  friend  all  that  the  old 
man  had  said  and  they  were  in  high  spirits. 
'I'he  old  Indian  cook  was  unable  to  account  for 
the  hilarity  of  the  cam])  that  evening,  for  he  was 
kei)t  ill  ignorance  of  the  puri)ose  of  the  trip. 


rich'Aiioo 


165 


After  supper  Tickaboo  called  for  his  pipeaiul 
the  smart  yuuiig  man  rillcil  it  partly  with  gun- 
powder and  partly  with  toljacco.  'I'he  aged 
chief  was  restless.  He  was  idiotically  supersti- 
tious, and  as  he  began  to  pull  at  his  pipe  lie 
mused  on  what  he  was  about  to  do.  For  a  half- 
century  he  had  held  this  great  secret  sacri'dly 
in  his  heart.  At  last  his  love  for  his  white 
friend  had  tempted  him,  stamling  as  he  was 
now  on  the  edge  of  the  grave,  to  show  him  the 
ruins  of  the  old  mine. 

"  If  it  is  right,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  find  it  — 
if  it  is  wrong  there  will  be  some  token  —  mayln- 
so  my  mother's  ghost  will  come  to  me  to-night 
and  tell  me  what  to  do.  More  blanket,  son. 
Waugh  !      Mow  the  fire  spits." 

Shirtz  wrapped  the  old  chief  warmly  in  an 
extra  blanket,  and  the  two  sat  apart  and  con- 
versed softly.  If  a  prowling  lion  snapped  a 
twig  the  Indian  started  up  anil  looked  for  his 
grandmother's  ghost.  A  lone  coyote  stood 
upon  the  canon  wall  and  wailed,  precisely 
where  the  two  men  stood  that  aflerno(jn,  and 
the  chief  said  that  it  was  the  voice  of  a  dead 
brave  warning  him  not  to  show  the  lost  mine  to 
the  white  man. 


166 


/■KoxrrrR  sroR/fis 


■•A 

■  W 

i 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  aged  Indian ;  "  the 
hero  of  a  hundred  battles  shakes  hke  a  S(iua\v. 
Tickaboo  the  brave  is  walking  backward  in  the 
night,  and  he  shall  fall,  and  his  bones  shall  lie 
by  the  trail  to  frighten  the  cayiise  of  the  pale- 
face. 'I'hese  hills  will  swarm  with  the  Hosteen 
jK'so-la-ki,  as  the  ant-hills  swarm  with  ants,  and 
like  lean  badgers  they  will  grul)  in  the  graves  of 
my  peopU'.  Voii  were  wicked  not  to  let  me 
die  yesterday  when  1  could  die  in  i)eace,  with 
this  great  secret  locked  up  in  my  cold  breast." 

"  J)id  not  your  father,  lUill-face  the  brave, 
give  this  secret  to  your  keeping?"  said  Shirtz, 
"and  can  you  not  trust  your  son?" 

"  Hut  you  are  not  of  my  blood  ;  much  as  I 
love  you,  I  can  see  the  face  of  the  white  man, 
and  he  is  my  enemy.  Vou  think  you  love  me 
now,  but  when  you  have  seen  the  face  of  your 
own  father,  Tickaboo  will  be  no  more  to  you. 

"  Vcs,  it  is  so  —  the  lambs  go  with  the  sheep, 
the  calves  with  the  cattle  ;  and  you  will  forget 
me  when  I  am  gone.  Tickaboo  has  lived  long 
time,  and  has  seen  all  his  jieople  die,  but  has 
never  been  so  troubled  as  he  is  to-night.  The 
fire  burns  low,  the  yellow  moon  is  ashamed  to 


TICK  A  POO 


167 


shiiio  — tlic  lean  coyote  keeps  liis  place  on  the 
ricks  above ;  there  is  much  meaning,  my  sun, 
in  all  this.  Tickaboo  the  brave  is  no  more  — 
'I'ickaboo  is  a  scpiaw  to-night,  the  chiKl  of  a 
white  man  stands  between  him  and  iiis  people." 

Again  the  coyote  howled  on  \\\q  hill,  there 
there  was  a  flash  —  a  puff  of  smoke  and  'i'icka- 
boo's  pipe  went  to  pieces.  In  vain  did  the 
white  men  endeavor  to  i)ersiiade  the  old  Indian 
that  it  was  only  a  juke,  and  that  Shirtz's  friend 
had  put  powder  in  the  pipe. 

"It  was  a  token  —  a  warning,"  the  old  man 
said,  and  they  would  go  no  further. 

All  night  the  old  chief  sat  wrapped  in 
thought  and  blankets,  gazing  into  the  flickering 
fire  :  and  at  the  dawn  of  day  tlie  little  band  began 
the  journey  back  to  the  village  of  the  Ties. 
The  little  joke  of  the  white  man  had  cost  him 
and  his  friend  a  fortune,  for  Tickaboo  could 
doubtless  have  found  the  lost  mine,  hut  he  alone 
held  the  secret. 


\ 


lit 


I 


}■ 


i 


ilialc  Cavnioc 


■\ 


LITTLE    CAYUSE. 


WIII'X  there  were  no  railroads  west  of 
Missouri  or  east  of  California,  they 
used  to  carry  mail  aad  light  freiglit  on  horse- 
back between  St.  Joe  and  Sacramento.  This 
service  was  known  as  the  pony  express.  Hoi.es 
swift  and  strong,  and  riders  ])rave  and  enuuring 
were  employed,  and  relay  stations  were  set  fifty 
miles  apart  across  the  great  American  desert. 

Away  out  in  Wyoming  there  lived  a  trapper 
who  was  known  only  by  the  name  of  "  Whip- 
saw  " —  a  name  given  him  by  a  gambler  in 
Deadwood. 

A  Sioux  who  had  a  hideous  scar  upon  his 
face  had  come  to  this  trapper's  camp  one  win- 
ter's day  with  a  Pawnee  baby,  naked  and  nearly 
frozen.  The  Sioux  wantetl  to  sell  the  boy,  and 
the  trapper  gave  him  a  knife  and  kept  the 
child.  The  young  Pawnee  was  not  more  than 
three  years  old. 


' 


H 


172 


PRO.WTIKR  SI  OR  IKS 


Two  years  later  \\  hii).sa\v  went  to  ktc;)  tiic 
station  called  White  Horse  for  the  pony  ;  x])rcs.=, 
tiking  the  Pawnee  with  him.  The  little  fellow 
grew  to  loN'e  his  white  father,  and  seemed  to 
conceive  a  bitter  hatred  for  all  Indians,  like 
other  Indians,  he  was  ever  alert.  The  scratch 
of  a  prowling  bear  on  the  cabin  door  or  the 
cry  of  a  lone  wolf  on  a  far-off  hill  would  wake 
him  from  a  sound  sleep.  He  would  hear  the 
hoofs  of  the  incoming  horses  beating  the  plains 
a  mile  away,  and  long  before  his  white  master 
could  hear  the  faintest  sound. 

•*  Cayuse,  Cayuse,"  he  would  whisper  in  the 
dead  of  night.  He  was  an  alarm-clock  for  the 
station. 

'I'he  little  Pawnee  was  never  too  cold  or  too 
sleepy  to  go  out  and  welcome  the  weary  rider 
and  pat  the  nose  of  the  spent  steed,  saying 
softly  the  while,  *'  Cayuse,  Cayuse." 

In  fact,  it  was  the  ijoy's  great  fondness  for 
ho  'ses  that  caused  W  iiipsaw  to  call  him  "  Little 
Cayuse." 

One  night  Whij^saw  woke,  and  found  the  boy 
sitting  up  in  his  blankets  listening. 

**  Cayuse?  "  asketl  Whipsaw. 


**i^illSiilrrfiifiiiiM 


I 


LITTLE   CAYUSE 


173 


\ 


I 


"  Lon^r  time,"  said  the  boy,  sh.ikiiiL,  his 
head.     "  Long  lime  —  no  caynse." 

Then  they  knew  what  the  child  meant.  It 
was  one  o'clock ;  the  pony  express  was  an 
hour  late  and  the  boy  knew,  instinctively,  that 
it  was  so. 

For  another  hour  the  two  men  sat  and 
waited  for  a  sign  from  the  boy,  who  listened 
for  the  sound  of  the  horse's  feet.  Presently 
the  Pawnee  crawled  out,  put  his  ear  to  the 
ground,  came  back  and  shook  his  master. 

"  Cayuse?"  asked  Wiiipsaw. 

"  Heap  cayuse,"  was  tlie  boy's  reply,  and 
thev  understood. 

Little  Cayuse  seized  his  rifle,  slipped  out  and 
the  two  men  followed  him.  To  guard  against 
surprises  of  this  sort,  Whipsaw  had  dug  short 
trenches,  deep  enough  to  hide  a  man,  all  about 
tiie  cabin,  and  now  to  his  surprise,  Little  Cay- 
use planted  himself  in  one  of  these  holes. 
Without  a  word  the  two  men  took  j)laces,  one 
to  the  right  the  other  to  the  left  of  the  boy,  and 
waited. 

The  clouds  were  breaking,  and  in  the  star- 
light  tliLy   could  see  the  Sioux,   six  of  them, 


(  \ 


174 


mO.\'T/j:K   STORIES 


n 


near  tlie  cabin  door.  'I'licy  listened  —  one  of 
them  pushed  the  door  open.  Now  an  Indian 
went  in,  came  out  a  moment  later  and  they  all 
filed  in,  at  the  very  moment  that  Whipsaw  was 
about  to  open  fire.  Instantly  he  changed  his 
plan.  They  would  charge  on  the  cabin  door 
and  fight  the  gang,  which  outnumbered  them, 
even  counting  the  boy,  two  to  one.  Without  a 
word  Whipsaw  got  to  his  feet,  and  instantly 
his  companions  were  at  his  side. 

Hob  the  express  rider  held  his  rifle,  the 
trapper  laid  his  uj^on  the  ground  and  held  a 
six-shot  revolver  in  either  hand.  It  was  to 
be  close  and  rai)id  fighting  ;  he  would  empty 
his  six-yhooters  and  after  that  the  knife.  Little 
Cayuse  grasped  his  rifie  with  fourteen  shots  in 
the  magazine.  Theic  was  no  word  of  com- 
mand, but  as  \\'hipsaw  leaned  forward  they  all 
started  double  rpiick  for  the  cabin.  Ten  paces 
from  the  door  they  stopped,  the  boy  still  sand- 
wiched between  the  men.  The  Sioux  must 
have  heard  tliem,  for  now  they  came  jjouring 
out.  iicfore  they  had  gained  the  open  air  the 
little  regiment  opened  fire.  Two  of  the  Indians 
fell,  the  others  returned  tlie  fire,  but  with  bad 


! 


I.l  ITLi:   CAYUSK 


/.■> 


« 


i 


aim.  Another  rouml  from  the  white  men  ami 
two  more  Siuiix  bit  tlie  chist.  IIoIj  was  pump- 
ing his  rille,  when  a  ball  from  the  cabin  door 
shattered  his  right  shoulder.  Propping  the 
gun  he  pulled  his  six  shooter  and  continued  to 
fight.  Having  enii)tied  both  (jf  tlie  revolvers, 
\\'hii)saw  shunmed  one  of  tiiem  into  the  face  of 
a  Sioux,  who  came  for  him  with  a  knife.  The 
two  men  began  fighting  close  now,  while  l-iltle 
Cayuse  kept  pumping  small  shot  into  tlie 
other  remaining  Sioux.  Seeing  Whipsaw  hard 
pressed,  the  boy  began  to  watch  for  a  chance 
to  use  his  lillle  ritle.  Hob  succce(:ed  at  la.it 
in  slo[)ping  his  man,  and  then  fell  in  a  faint 
from  loss  (jf  blood.  Whipsaw  had  been  shot 
and  badly  cut,  when  his  antagonist  paused  to 
get  advantage.  Instantly  Little  Cayuse  shoved 
the  rifie  as  near  the  Sioux's  left  side  as  he 
coukl  get  it  and  pulled  the  trigger,  and  the  big, 
bad  Indian  sank  in  a  heap. 

In  the  sag  not  faraway  tliey  found  the  horses 
that  the  robbers  had  ridden  and  the  exi)ress 
pony,  with  the  pouch  still  on  the  saddle, 
standing  in  a  bunch,  their  bridles  tieil  together. 

.\bout   a    milt;    up   the    trail   they    found    the 


176 


FKo.vn/iit  s/OK//:s 


.  I   ! 


body  (jf  the  rider,  stiff  and  cold,  with  a  bullet 
hole  in  his  head,  and  carried  him  ba(  k  and 
buried  him,  and  there  would  n't  have  been  a 
soul  at  the  funeral  but  for  Little  Cayuse. 

Tile  next  day  when  they  were  caching  the 
carcasses  of  the  dead  Indians,  Little  Cayuse 
shocked  and  surprised  the  white  men  by  con- 
stanlly  (:luhl)in^'  and  kicking  the  corpses.  Of 
a  sudden  he  gave  a  wild  yell,  seized  his  rifle 
and  began  emi)lying  it  into  one  of  the  dead 
Indians.  W'hipsaw  took  the  gun  away  from 
him. 

**vSec  !  see  !  "  cried  the  boy,  pointing  at  the 
dead  Indian,  and  the  trai)i)er  recognized  in  the 
object  of  the  boy's  wrath  the  hideous  features 
of  the  scar-faced  Sioux  who  had  sold  the  child, 
by  whose  hands  he  had  in  his  own  good  time, 
been  taken  off. 


! 


Renegade  Indians  had  made  so  much  trouble 
at  White  Horse  station  that  W'hipsaw  and  Little 
Cayuse,  determined  to  make  it  hot  for  the  next 
gang  that  called. 

White  Llorse  was  the  wildest,  most  dangerous 
and  desolate  station  on  the  pony-express  line 


( 


I 


i.i  rri.E  CA  \rs/: 


1 1 


\ 


I 


between  St.  Joe  ami  Sacramento.  The  place 
hail  l)een  cleaned  out  on  an  average  of  once  a 
month  since  its  establishment,  and  Wells,  Fari^o, 
tS:  Co.  were  j^aowin^  weary  llndin^;  horx-s  and 
feed  for  all  tlu-  lawless  bandri  in  Wyoniini;  and 
snrroundiiiL,^  territories. 

'I'hey  had  asked  Whipsaw  what  he  rcfpiircd 
for  the  belter  protection  of  the  station  ;  an<l  the 
pt)nies  ^^alloped  back  to  Sacramento  with  his 
answer  :  — 

"  A  jiii;  t)l'  N(piinel  whiskey,  six  six-shouicrs, 
a  whole  lot  of  I'lii-crackers,  and  a  man." 

'I'lie  man  with  the  supplies  (  ame  ujt  from 
Cilifornia  a  l"ew  days  later,  an<l  Whipsaw  brj^an 
to  build  his  traps.  lie  had  bei-n  a  trapper  by 
profession  \\\)  to  the  time  he  <\iine  U)  White 
Horse  to  take  charge  of  the  station. 

He  gave  two  of  the  six-shooters  to  the  new 
man,  lifted  a  log  with  the  help  of  his  (()mi)an- 
ions,  and  fixed  the  other  four  firmly  in  a  crick, 
all  poiiiliiig  into  the  c;d)in  and  tow.ird  the  door. 
These  instruments  of  death  were  so  grouped 
that  1  attic  Cayuse,  lying  on  the  dirt-roof  of 
the  lean-to,  could  work  them.  A  chink  was 
knocked  out,  and  through  this  opening  the  boy 

1.: 


,7.S 


JROXT//:/<  srOKlKS 


[IN 


was  cxju'cltMl    to  fi'cd   the   fireworks  when  the 
house  was  full  of  Indians. 

'riiev  made  llu-  "  cat  hole"  large  enough  for 
Little  C.'ayusc,  and  in  that  w.iy  he  could  slip 
from  the  cabin  to  the  stable,  and  so  to  the  roof 
of  the  slicd. 

When  the  boy  had  ]ilay(d  with  his  battery 
and  had  mastered  the  mystery  of  the  firecrack- 
ers, Whips.iw  expressed  the  brlicf  that  the  thing 
would  be  a  success.  lattle  Cayusc  grinned  with 
savage  delight  as  he  listeiu'(l  to  the  din  of 
the  revf)lvers  and  the   noise  of  crackers. 

Almost  loo  yards  from  the  cabin  door  and 
some  40  or  50  yards  apart,  they  dug  three  jtits, 
long  enough  for  a  m  ui  to  lie  down  in.  'I'liesc 
pits  were  covend  o\-rr  with  stout  willows  and 
earth,  save  a  sj)ace  at  the  end  next  to  the  house, 
which  was  covered  by  a  trap  door  hung  to  one 
of  the  willows  bv  strong  leather  straps.  'I'he 
tops  of  the  tloors  were  carpeted  with  burlap, 
that  had  been  wet  and  dabbed  on  the  desert 
until  it  caught  the  color  e.>f  the  earth.  It  was 
summer  time,  and  \\'hipsa\'  ,  the  extra  man,  and 
the  rider  who  was  lying  (jver  there,  now  took 
their   blankets    and    slept    in    the    })ils.      Little 


I.I rri.E  CM  vusE 


'79 


Cayuse,  the  hivcn-ycar-(»I<l  I'awiu'c,  ^k-pt  in  the 
cabin,  fur  lU)  Iiuliaii  coiilil  come  near  liini  wiliiout 
iiis  knowledu'e   of  the  presence  of  the  stranger. 

'I'hey  had  hein  sleepm.;  out  for  more  tlian  a 
\\\  )nih,  and  the  pony-express  riders  liad  be- 
i;'m  to  complain,  wlien  the  west-bound  ricKr, 
due  at  \Vhite  Horse  at  midni.uht.  failed  to  arrive. 
Atone  o'  clock  Little  Cayuse  crept  out  to  where 
Whip-iaw  slept,  and  whispered:  '*  Heap  long 
tinii-  —  me  no  see  'em  cayuse." 

"  What  you  see?" 

*•  Me  see  'em  heap  gun  —  far  away,  boom, 
boom,  boom,"  said  th<'  boy. 

Om-  (if  the  many  peculiarities  of  Little 
Cayuse  was  that  he  ucmt  *•  heard  "  anything. 
He  insisted  always  that  he  "  saw  "  it  thimder,  or 
that  he  "  saw  "  the  cayuse,  the  pony  bringing  the 
mail,  far  aw.iv  in  the  dead  of  night. 

So  Whipsaw  knew  that  he  had  heard  the 
sound  of  firearms,  and  made  no  dijubt  that  the 
express  rider  had  been  killed. 

Whipviw  (ordered  the  boy  to  creep  to  the 
other  pits,  warn  the  men,  and  get  back  to  liis 
place. 

The  jug    of  ••  Inig   juice,  "   as   he   called    it, 


if 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


7 


// 


^ 

^\^^ 


y. 


f/. 


y. 


V] 


V] 


/ 


^3 


,^%"k^>    Mf^I 


w 


V 


V 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


li:  i^  IIIIIM 

«"  1^    1 2.2 

^  '■  111^ 

4-      ^  = 

II  1.8 
U_  III  1.6 


6" 


Pliotographic 

Sciences 
Corporaiion 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


( 


{!'' 


• 


i)h 


Ih 


\  . 


180 


FKONTIEK  STORIES 


Whipsaw  had  kept  constantly  just  inside  the 
oi)cn  (hjor  of  the  cabin. 

presently  an  Indian  came  croucliing  under 
the  eaves  of  the  shed.  Little  Cayuse  j)eering 
over  could  see  his  bent  back  directly  under 
him,  and  could  hardly  resist  the  temptation  to 
plug  him  with  the  short  rifle  that  had  been 
given  him  by  the  express  company,  but  he 
knew  that  this  was  only  a  scout,  or  spy,  and 
that  more  Indians  were  at  hand.  In  a  little 
while  the  Indian  worked  his  way  to  the  cabin 
door,  found  the  jug,  smelled  of  it,  took  a  drink, 
and  then  darted  away  as  noiselessly  as  a  cat. 

It  was  some  time  before  a  sound  was  heard, 
for  the  band  of  renegades  would  not  stir  until 
they  had  drained  the  two-gallon  jug. 

Usually  these  bands  were  small,  from  six  to  a 
dozen  men,  but  this  gang  had  thirty  or  forty  des- 
perate Indians  in  it.  The  first  intimation  Little 
Cayuse  had  of  the  return  of  the  band  was  the 
patter  of  feet,  like  the  noise  by  a  bind  of  boys, 
runni'-;:^  barefoot  down  a  dusty  lane,  and  then 
he  saw  the  dark  forms  of  the  Indians  coming 
for  the  cabin  like  a  swarm  of  grasshoi)pers. 

They    believed    that    all   the    peoi)le   of  the 


Lirrr.r.  cay  use 


iSi 


station  were  in    the    house  asleep,  an<l    wDuld 
be    caught  like    rats    in  a    trap.     Outside    the 
door    they    paused  for   an    instant,   drew  their 
h.itchets,  and  then  rushed  into  the  cal)!!!.     As 
soon  as  he  heard   their  shuflling  feet  \\\Y)\\  the 
floor,    Little  Cayuse  began  working  his  battery, 
'i'he    Indians  without   rushed   to   the    rescue  of 
their    comrades  within,   who,   being   unable   to 
find   the  door,   endeavored  to  fly  from  a  hogan 
whose    very  walls  breathed  thumler  and  liidit- 
ning.     The    moment    lie     had    emi)tie(l     one 
chamber  of  each  of  the  pistols,  the  Indian  boy 
lighted  a  few  hundred  fire-rrackers  and  shoved 
them   through   the   crack,    rolled    loosely    in   a 
newspaper  so  as  to  hide  the  Arc.     When  these 
began  to  explode  amid  the  savages,  the  boy  be- 
gan the  work  of  emptying    the   revolvers  that 
were  fixed  fast  in  the  wall.     To  add  to  the  con- 
fusion, the  men  in  the  ])its  now  put  up  their 
heads    and  each   emptied  a  pair  of  forty-fives 
into   the    struggling    band    of   savages.     Those 
rushing    in    collided   with    those    coming    out, 
and  they  all  stumbled  and  fell  over  the  twisted 
bodies  of  the  dying  and  dead.     In  the  blind- 
ing smoke,  the  drunken  savages  began  firing  their 


m 


1S2 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


IE 


ivt 


rifles  wildly,  or  harked  one  another  to  death  in 
the  awful  darkness  of  the  place;  all  of  which 
the  more  confused  the  Indians  without,  caus- 
ing them  to  continue  the  struggle  to  gain  an 
entrance  to  the  cabin. 

I'^ach  i)assing  moment  added  to  the  awfulness 
of  the  scene.  The  wild  war-whoops  of  these 
l)ainted  pirates  of  the  plain,  the  rattle  of  ritles, 
the  shrieks  of  the  wounded,  and  the  strangled 
cries  of  the  dying,  were  horrible  to  hear. 

Having  re-loaded  their  six-shooters,  to  have 
handy  for  close  fighting,  the  men  in  the  pits 
now  began  to  use  their  rifles  on  the  wild  rabble 
of  red  skins,  who  were  struggling  at  the  door  of 
the  cabin. 

Finding  no  one  to  attack,  panic-stricken  and 
bewildered,  the  Indians,  with  a  wild  yell  of 
despair,  turned  to  fly.  Catching  glimpses  of 
the  glare  of  the  guns  that  were  aimed  at  them 
from  the  pits,  the  savages  now  rushed  toward 
these  yellow  flames. 

Instantly  the  men  dropped  back  like  so  many 
])rairie  dogs,  pulled  the  doors  down,  and  were 
gone. 

Being  unable  to  compete  with  an  enemy  that 


1 


LITTLE   CAYUSE 


I«3 


could  make  itself  visible  or  in\  isible  at  will,  tiiat 
could  come  and  go  like  the  si)iiits  of  the  dead, 
the  Indians,  with  another  wikl,  despairing  cry, 
lied  from  the  field,  leaviiig  the  dead  to  the 
mercies  of  the  mysterious  toe. 

About  a  month  after  the  battle  at  White 
Horse,  lJ(jb  was  able  to  take  his  ride  again  ^w 
the  pony  express. 

Little  Cayuse  was  now  more  of  a  hero  than 
ever.  The  most  he  had  done  up  to  that  night 
had  been  to  warn  the  men  when  the  Sioux 
were  coming,  but  now  it  became  known  that 
he  had  not  only  detected  the  enemy  in  the 
act  of  stealing  upon  the  station,  but  had  actu- 
ally killed  the  leader  of  the  murderous  band 
with  his  "thirty-eight." 

One  day  when  Whipsaw  and  the  express 
rider,  who  '-y  over  at  White  Horse,  were  out 
ufter  buffalo,  Little  Cayuse  was  watching  the 
station.  The  hunters  had  been  lured  away  by 
the  flying  herd,  and  when  the  sun  hung  low  in 
the  clear,  hot  sky,  they  had  not  yet  returned. 
For  nearly  an  hour  the  Indian  boy  had  been 
watching  a  bare-backed  broncho  that  seemed 


Si 


1 


1 84 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


Hi 


I'ili 


to   be    feeding    about    a    mile   away,   but    kept 
working  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  station. 

Presently  the  sharp  eye  of  the  Pawnee  saw 
that  the  animal  had  two  pairs  of  front  legs. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  made  out  that 
the  rider  was  stalking  in  the  shadow  of  the 
horse.  To  and  fro  the  animal  went,  out 
toward  the  sunset  that  was  Winding  the  boy, 
and  at  each  turn  came  nearer  to  the  station. 
When  at  kist  the  round,  red  sun  went  down, 
and  the  men  (bd  not  return,  the  brave  Httle 
watchman  took  his  rifle  and  pLinted  himself  in 
the  cabin  door.  At  dusk  the  horse  began  to 
ciicle  round  the  cabin,  but  the  boy  kept  his 
pkice.  Now  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards 
separated  the  horse  and  the  station. 

The  owner  of  the  animal  now  started  for  the 
cabin  from  the  rear,  and  when  he  reached  the 
shed,  or  lean-to  in  which  the  express  horses 
were  kept,  he  stopped.  The  boy  cocked  his 
ear  and  his  rifle. 

The  man  started  his  horse  round  the  house 
one  way,  and  crept  round  the  other  side  on 
tiptoe.  As  the  head  of  the  horse  showed  up 
at  the  corner  of  the  cabin.  Little  Cayuse  stood 


LITTLE   CAY  USE 


185 


up  to  face  whatever  or  whoever  niij;ht  ( ome, 
ami  instantly  a  i)owerful  Sioux  sprang  upon 
liim  from  beliind,  twisted  the  gun  from  his 
blender  hands,  threw  him  upon  the  back  of 
his  horse  and  vaulted  up  behind  him. 

The  big  Indian  gazed  ilown  upon  the  little 
toy  gun  contemptuously,  swept  the  horizon 
with  his  eagle  eye,  leaned  forward,  clami»e(l 
the  horse  with  his  knees,  and  tlie  animal 
galloped  away. 

A  half-hour  later  Whipsaw  and  I5ob,  tired 
and  hungry,  rode  up  to  the  cabin.  "  Cayuse  ! " 
called  Whipsaw,  but  there  was  no  answer. 

Dismountin,''  ])ob  threw  the  door  of  the 
shed  open,  for  his  first  thought  was  of  the 
express  pony,  and  was  greeted  by  a  cheerful 
neigh.  \VIiipsaw  went  into  the  cabin,  came 
out,  looked  at  his  companion,  and  uttered  the 
one  word,  "  Gone."  He  stopped  and  lifted 
the  boy's  rifle,  that  had  been  discharged  in  the 
scuffle,  saw  the  empty  shell  in  the  "  death 
chamber,"  and  wondered  where  the  bullet  had 
gone.  It  seemed  to  be  a  consolation  to  find 
that  the  boy  had  made  some  sort  of  a  fight. 
He  had  not  gone  willingly  away  with  his  own 


J 


I.S6 


/•'A'OX  TIER  S  n  )A'  /AW 


■i 


)   » 


t  ) 


ii», 


f,( 


pcoi)lo.  Ho  ha.l  l)ccn  slolcti,  cnpturcd,  and 
carried  away  by  the  Sioux,  who  would  hold  him 
for  a  hi^h  reward,  unless  the  boy  should  invite 
death  by  attempting  to  escape. 

That  night  the  men  had  to  keep  watch  for 
the  first  time  for  more  than  a  year,  for  Little 
Cayuse  would  not  be  there  to  call  them  when 
the  first  faint  sound  of  hordes'  feet  was  heard 
on  the  distant  i)lair.. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light  \Vhi))saw  took  tiic 
trail  of  the  horse  that  had  carried  the  hoy 
away.  In  a  sag,  not  far  from  the  cabin,  he 
saw  where  an  extra  horse  had  been  tethered, 
and  he  knew  then  that  the  capture  of  Little 
Cayuse  had  been  the  result  of  a  well-laid  plan, 
and  that  it  would  be  useless  to  follow  the 
thief. 

The  news  of  the  capture  was  carried  east;  to 
St.  Joe  and  west  to  Sacramento  by  the  riders 
of  the  flying  bronchos  that  were  racing  across 
the  continent.  The  company  immediately 
offered  a  reward  for  the  recapture  of  the 
Indian  boy,  who  had  become  not  only  an 
alarm  clock,  but  a  watch  dog,  at  the  most 
dangerous  station  on  the  entire  route. 


I.irrLE   CAVUSli 


187 


plan, 
'    tlie 


For  six  houra  the  Pawnee,  with  feet  lashed 
to  the  saddle,  rode  in  front  of  his  cai)tor. 
Swift  as  the  wind,  silent  as  the  shadows  of 
birds,  tliey  swei)t  over  the  .nige-covered  desert 
into  the  territory  of  Nebraska. 

P'or  nearly  a  )ear  Little  Cayuse  lived  among 
the  Sioux,  but  he  never  forgot  his  white  master. 
In  all  this  time  he  made  no  attempt  to  escape, 
and  his  captors  began  to  believe  that  the  boy 
had  become  reconciled  to  his  fate.  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  write  here  that  Little  Cayuse 
was  vastly  superior  to  other  lndi;.ns,  —  that  he 
Wv,nt  regularly  to  the  Platte,  took  off  his  belt, 
and  bathed  him  in  the  running  stream,  —  but 
he  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  If  he  plunged 
into  the  river  occasionally  it  was  because  its 
water  was  cool  and  refreshing,  and  not  because 
he  panted  to  be  clean.  Cleanliness  is  next  to 
godliness.  Little  Cayuse  was  an  Indian.  He 
would  skin  a  rabbit  alive  to  see  how  long  it 
wou'd  live  naked,  and  share  his  dinner  with  a 
crippled  dog. 

A  mill-run  of  Indians  of  that  day  and  age, 
regardless  of  tribe  or  locality,  would  probably 

sixteen 


Jekyll 


Hydes. 


1 88 


FRONTIER  STORlE)i 


' 


\ 


I    I 


\    / 


In  the  spring  and  summer  following  the  cap- 
ture of  the  boy  the  Sioux  were  busy  with  the 
Pawnees  and  the  United  States  troops,  'ihe 
l)and  in  wl»ich  the  boy  was  licld  were  forced  to 
break  camp  one  dark  iiight  and  lly  for  their 
lives. 

J.ittle  Cayuse  took  advantage  of  the  situation 
and  escaped.  Not  knowing  that  the  Pawnees, 
who  were  after  the  Sioux,  were  his  own  peoj)le, 
he  turned  his  face  to  the  west  and  set  out  to 
find  his  white  frientl.  lie  travelled  all  night, 
not  knowing  exactly  to  what  point  of  the  com- 
pass his  swift  feet  were  carrying  him,  and  at 
dawn  hid  beneath  the  bank  of  the  river. 
When  the  sun  went  down  he  set  his  face  toward 
the  gold  and  resumed  his  journey.  He  made 
note  of  the  stars,  so  that  when  the  gold  was 
gone  he  was  able  to  keep  his  course  toward  the 
west. 

It  was  near  midnight  of  the  second  "  sleep  ;  " 
the  boy  was  hungry  and  tired.  He  knew  by 
his  native  instinct  that  he  must  be  near  the 
station  from  which  the  Sioux  had  carried  him  a 
year  ago,  and  concluded  to  lie  down  and  rest 
»     until   morning.     He   ate    the    last   of  a  small 


LITTLE  C.trt/SE 


1 89 


"cp;" 

,'\v  by 
ir  the 
him  a 
tl  rest 
small 


piece  of  dried  UtifTalo  inont  th.it  he  had  carried 
with  hitn.  Away  o(T  toward  the  mountains  at 
the  nortli  he  heard  a  lone  wolf  howl.  Another 
answered  from  the  south  of  iiim.  'llic  boy, 
beini;  unarmed,  was  sore  afraid.  He  got  to 
his  feet,  listened,  and  hurried  on.  I'resenlly 
he  iicard  a  sage-bush  rattle,  looked  back,  and 
saw  a  dark  shadow  following  him.  ]\c  slopped 
short,  an<l  the  shadow  stoi)peil.  He  turned 
and  ran  toward  it,  beating  the  nigiu  air  wiih 
his  arms.  The  shadow  flounced  ncjiselessly  to 
one  side,  and  he  knew  it  was  a  wolf. 

He  turned  and  ran  for  a  hundred  yards, 
glancx'd  back,  and  the  shadow  was  at  his  heels. 
1  le  faced  about,  and  to  his  horror  there  were 
three  or  four  other  shadows  following  the 
first. 

He  ran  at  them  ;  they  flounced  about,  but 
did  not  run  away.  Now  he  had  to  study  the 
stars  to  get  his  bearings  again,  and,  when  he 
started  forward,  found  himself  surrounded  by 
the  gaunt,  gray  wolves  of  the  i^lain.  liravc  as 
he  was,  the  boy's  heart  stood  still,  while  the 
hungry  animals  crouched  nearer.  He  tried  to 
pick    u\)    something    to    throw,   but    there  was 


J 


'  / 


IQO 


I  Ko.\'rii:K  .smniKS 


L;    I 


I 


Iflr!'' 


nothing    but    the    dry    cartli    and    tlic   sngc- 
brush. 

Far  down  the  plain  he  tliou^'ht  he  hc;ird  tiic 
hoofs  of  a  horse  hitting  the  trail.  I  fe  put  his 
car  to  the  earth  and  heard  to  his  joy  the  un- 
mistakable callatter,  callatter,  of  a  horse's  flyiiii^ 
feet.  Near  and  nearer  came  the  sound,  and 
closer  crept  the  wild  dogs  of  the  desert.  'J'he 
boy's  trained  car  told  him  that  he  was  north 
of  the  trail  upon  which  the  horse  seemed  to  be 
travelling,  and  that  the  lone  rider  would  pass 
to  the  south  of  lum.  D.uling  this  way  and  that 
he  succeeded  in  driving  the  wolves  away  for 
a  moment,  a. id  then  hurried  across  the  sage- 
brush. He  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yanls 
before  he  found  himself  surrounded  by  the 
band  again.  The  liorse  was  now  so  near  that 
he  could  hear  the  animal's  breath  coming  with 
a  snort  like  the  exhaust  of  a  locomotive  at 
each  jump,  and  the  wolves  were  so  close  to 
him  that  he  could  hear  them  lick  their  chops, 
and  see  their  eyes  shining  like  green  glass  in 
the  darkness.  Now  he  could  see  the  horse 
outlined  against  the  horizon  and  the  rider  lean- 
ing forward  holding  the  broncho  hard  bet"ween 


'I 


LITTLE  CAVt/SM 


';« 


the 

Oiat 
with 
vc   at 
jse  to 

ass  in 
horse 
r  Ican- 
etu'cca 


his  knees.  The  hoy  nvule  another  desperate 
effort  to  escape  from  his  pnrsners,  il.irlcd  for- 
ward and  a  moment  hiter  his  bare  feet  felt  the 
traih  At  Ui.it  moment  one  of  the  wolves 
snai)pcd  liis  sharp  teeth  through  tlie  calf  of 
the  Ixjy's  leg,  threw  him  to  the  ground  and  in- 
stantly he  was  covered  by  a  do/cn  leaping, 
snarling,  snapping'  wolves  that  completely 
blocked  the  trail.  'I'he  horse  stopped  so  sud- 
denly that  a  less  watchful  rider  would  have 
been  hurled  into  the  heap. 

"  Veh  pirates  o'  th'  plain,"  cried  the  man, 
whii)i)ing  out  a  six-shooter.  He  knew  the 
rolling  brown  bundle  for  a  band  of  wolves,  and 
reckoned  that  below  the  heap  there  struggled 
a  buffalo  calf  or  a  young  antelope. 

As  the  rider  began  to  empty  his  revolver 
rapidly  into  the  bantl  they  began  to  scatter, 
and  as  the  smoke  cleared  away  the  Pawnee, 
torn  and  bleeding,  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"Cayuse  !  "  cried  the  rider. 

"  Wuh  !  "  grunted  the  Indian,  as  he  recog- 
nized his  old  master,  Whipsaw. 

'I'he  man  grasped  the  boy  by  one  arm  and 
lifted   him   to   the  back  of  the  horse.     A  wolf 


>  1] 


'J 


192 


FROyrriF.R  STORIES 


i  1 


1 

( 


'! 


"t 


ff 


snapped  at  the  boy's  feet.  Taking  another 
shot  at  them,  WHiipsaw  scattered  the  band  and 
the  horse  dashed  away  again.  But  these  wolves 
had  tasted  blood,  and  they  gave  chase. 

A  mile  away,  in  the  cabin  at  White  Horse, 
the  rider  who  was  to  carry  the  mail  on  West, 
and  the  wounded  rider  whose  place  Whipsaw 
had  taken,  heard  the  rattle  of  the  revolver, 
armed  themselves  and  started  up  the  trail. 

Meanwhile  the  bloodthirsty  wolves  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  snapping  at  the  flying  heels 
of  the  fi-ightened  horse  and  leaping  up  in  a 
mad  effort  to  diag  the  wounded  boy,  whose 
blood  had  reddened  their  tongues,  from  the 
saddle. 

Holding  the  boy  with  one  hand  and  leaving 
the  horse  to  guide  himself,  Whipsaw  pointed  his 
pistol  over  his  shoulder  and  pumped  lead  into 
the  darkness  behind  him.  An  occasional  yelp 
told  of  a  wolf  that  had  been  hit,  but  still  the 
band  came  on. 

As  the  men  came  from  the  cabin  the  "nent 
horse  galloped  up  to  the  door,  with  the  howl- 
ing wolves  at  his  heels. 

A  few  rounds  from  the  rifles  of  the  two  men 


\\\ 


LITTLF  CAYUSK 


^93 


"'lent 
howl- 


and  the  sight  and  scent  of  civiUzation  soon  jnit 
the  wolves  to  flight,  and  the  fresh  rider,  with  a 
fresh  horse,  dashed  o'^  toward  the  coast. 

The  wounded  rider  led  the  tired  horse  away. 
Whipsaw  carried  the  boy  into  the  cabin  and 
laid  him  tenderly  upon  his  blankets,  that  had 
been  kept  ready  and  waiting  for  him  all  these 
weeks  and  months.  His  chest,  arms,  and  legs 
were  fearfully  torn,  and  into  the  open  wounds 
Whipsaw  poured  tiie  contents  of  a  quart  bottle. 
Not  a  murmur  nor  ?'.  moan  came  from  the 
hero  of  eight  summers  as  the  red  liquor  was 
poured  into  his  bleeding  wounds. 

"There's  five  hundred  in  this  for  you,"  said 
the  pony-express  man,  limping  in  from  the 
shed.  "  An'  it  might  have  been  mine  ef  it 
hadn't  been  fer  them  infernal  Injins." 

Whipsaw  made  no  reply,  for  he  was  not 
thinking  of  the  reward  that  had  been  offered 
by  Wells,  Fargo,  &  Co.,  owners  of  the  pony 
express.  He  was  thinking  of  the  brave  boy 
who  had  once  saved  his  life.  The  gray  old 
plainsman  was  deeply  touched  by  the  boy's 
bravery,  and  his  eyes  were  wet  for  the  first 
time  within  a  quarter  of  a  century.     He  would 

I". 


f,  ''- 


n 


194 


J-RONTIER  STOK//:S 


not  let  his  rough  companion  see  his  tears,  but 
allowed  them  to  fall  upon  the  brown  face  of 
the  boy. 

"  Poor  Little  Cayuse,"  said  Whipsaw. 

"  Wuh  !  "  said  Little  Cayuse. 


rs,  but 
ace  of 


If 


2DIjc  OTafjoatclj  BauD  of  BauDit^ 


( 


I 

I 


11 


■■\] 


1 


1 


]■ 


1 

i 

1 

(I ;  \ 

t 

)l '  i 

i'l  1  V , 

iJl , 

II- 

1 

d| 

s 

THE    WAHSATCH    BAND    OF 
BANDITS. 


WHEN  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande 
Railroad  was  extended  througli  the 
black  canon  of  the  Ounnison,  over  Soldier 
Summit  and  across  the  Utah  Desert  to  the  city 
of  Salt  Lake,  it  opened  a  new  and  fruitful  field 
for  enterprising  train  robbers.  It  brought 
business  to  the  very  door,  so  to  speak,  of  a 
band  of  bandits  who  had  been  driven  from 
Purgatory  range  in  Colorado  and  were  now 
living  a  rather  monotonous  life  in  the  Wahsatch 
Mountains  in  Utah.  By  changing  their  names 
and  whiskers  as  often  as  they  changed  their 
postoffice  address,  and  by  receiving  their  mail 
anonymously,  these  hunted  criminals  were  able 
for  a  time  to  keep  clear  of  the  officers  of  the 
law,  and  to  make  occasional  sorties  into  the 
desert  for  the  purpose  of  flagging  the  midnight 
express.      This  new  and  enterprising  railroad, 


I'i 


iqS 


/•AVJA'/YAA'  sroRir.s 


f.ii 

•'1 


^  'I 
'V 


Il4 


being  the  mo.st  direct  route,  e.ijoyecl  tlie 
privilege  of  carrying  the  gold  from  the  San 
Francisco  Mint  to  the  Treasury  at  Washington 
or  the  Sub-Treasury  at  New  York,  and  this 
fact  was  among  the  many  tilings  known  to  the 
half-breed  leader  of  the  Wahsatch  band.  These 
biaidits  were  well  mounted,  having  the  pick  of 
the  thousands  of  splendid  horses  that  graze  in 
the  broad  and  beautiful  plain  that  begins  at 
Fruitville  and  ends  at  Ogden.  The  Mormons 
had  organized  and  hunted  the  gang,  but  with 
poor  success.  When  they  were  in  need  of 
meat  the  ouUaws  would  ride  into  the  valley, 
rope  and  slaughter  a  steer  or  sheep,  and  long 
before  daylight  be  sleeping  n*  their  mountain 
caves  again. 

If  they  wanted  something  from  a  grocer  they 
would  enter  one  of  the  quiet  Mormon  villages, 
disguised  as  cowboys  or  Indians,  play  drunk, 
shoot  up  the  town,  and  in  the  excitement  help 
themselves  and  ride  away,  while  the  people 
peered  after  them,  only  too  glad  to  let  them  go. 

An  Indian  chief,  who  had  been  a  warrior  of 
some  note  in  his  time,  offered,  for  a  considerable 
reward,  to  capture  or  kill  the  outlaws.     Having 


¥ 


Tilt:   WAHSATCH  BAXD  OF  HAN  I)  ITS     I  99 


received  the  proper  authority,  he  made  a  Spanish 
sortie.  With  a  dozen  men,  well  mounted,  this 
Indian  started  for  the  hills  to  hunt  the  bandits. 
All  the  peop'?  of  the  valley  gave  aid  to  the 
Indians,  thinking  perhaps  that  whatever  the 
result  might  be,  the  loss  to  the  church  would 
be  trifling. 

At  the  last  little  town  near  the  foot  of  the 
range  the  red  cliicf  and  his  band  were  given  an 
ovation,  with  red  liquor  on  the  side.  Nothing 
can  be  worse  for  a  community  than  the  mixing 
of  firewater,  firearms,  and  Indians. 

The  oudaws  heard  of  the  coming  of  the  red 
sheriff,  and  arranged  a  reception  for  him. 

Th^y  had  their  hiding-place  in  a  narrow 
canon,  that  pinched  out  at  the  top  so  that  a 
horseman  could  ride  so  far  and  no  farther. 

The  trail  to  this  canon  led  over  a  sweep  of 
barren  rock,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  follow. 
But  now,  being  anxious  to  have  the  Indians 
find  them,  the  bandits  rode  down  the  caiion 
to  the  valley,  turned  and  came  back  agam, 
making  a  new,  plain  trail.  Then,  carrying  their 
horses  and  other  chattels  out  over  the  blind 
trail,   they  established   themselves    at   a   point 


,1 


f«* 


200 


j-'AOxr/z./y  s /•()/<: //:s 


above  th(.'  old  ramp  and  bcyund  where  the 
canon  walls  came  togctiicr. 

The  Indians  soon  found  the  trail,  and,  flushed 
with  firewater,  they  gave  chase.  In  a  few 
hours,  and  much  sooner  than  they  expected, 
they  came  ui)on  the  old  camj),  and  before 
they  could  raise  their  rifles  the  outlaws  were 
pouring  lead  into  them  from  the  crags  above. 

Three  or  four  of  the  Indians  fell  at  the  first 
fire,  and  what  added  to  the  horror  of  the  situ- 
ation was  that  they  were  unable  to  return  the 
fire,  so  com[)letely  were  the  outlaws  hidden  in 
the  jagged  rock.  Panic-stricken,  the  Indians 
dashed  down  the  caiion,  but  the  bandits  con- 
tinued to  shower  the  lead  after  them.  The 
leader  and  two  more  of  his  men  fell  in  the 
retreat,  and  that  was  the  last  time  the  Indians 
of  Utah  undertook  to  arrest  the  bandits. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  fight  that  the  rail- 
road was  opened,  and  the  gang  determined  to 
enter  upon  the  more  romantic  business  of  train 
robbing. 

The  first  two  or  three  attempts  made  by  the 
Utah  gang  to  hold  up  the  midnight  express  had 
resulted  to  their  embarrassment. 


THE    ll'AlfSATLl/   liAXJ)  OF  /i.l X/)/ JS      201 


the 


Once  the  air  had  failed  to  work,  and  at 
another  time  a  desperate  cowboy  who  hap- 
pe.iod  to  be  among  the  passengers,  disputed 
the  territory,  and  put  the  bandits  to  flight. 
Another  such  water  haul  would  bring  al)()Ut 
the  leader's  impeachment,  and  that  distin- 
guished indivitlual  determined  to  re-establish 
himself  in  the  confidence  and  esteem  of  his 
companions. 

Solitude,  about  as  desolate  a  spot  as  there  is 
on  the  American  continent,  was  selected  as  the 
proper  place  to  rob  the  train. 

There  was  not  a  house  at  that  station ;  only 
a  solitary  switch  target  at  either  end  of  a  long 
and  lonely  side-track.  A  red  cotton  handker- 
chief soaked  in  bear's  oil  was  set  ablaze  as  the 
long  train,  with  two  engines,  came  roaring 
down  the  desert.  Instead  of  swinging  the 
torch  steadily  back  and  forth  across  the  track, 
the  amateur  flagman  allowed  the  light  to  bob 
about  in  an  awkward,  unseemly  manner  that 
caused  the  man  on  the  leading  locomotive  to 
mistrust  the  "token." 

He  blew  his  whistle  long  and  loud,  ending 
with  the  two  familiar  "  toot-toots,"  in    answer 


1^ 


I^- 


202 


FKO.WriKfi  STOKIKS 


r  ■ ». 


1 


'    / 


)  1 


ii    ' 


to  the  signal  and  shut  ofT.  The  waiting  rob- 
bers hastily  put  out  the  torch  as  the  train  came 
on,  but  instead  of  applying  the  air  wliich  was 
hib  business,  the  le  •  ",  engineer  {so/h  voce) 
soundeil  "OIT  br;ike,"  and  opened  up  again, 
r.efore  the  bewildered  robbers  could  rcali/e 
what  had  hajipened  the  train,  the  sjjced  of 
which  had  scarcely  slackened,  went  thunder- 
ing by. 

Just  what  had  been  avoided  by  the  sagacity 
of  the  daring  engineer  might  have  remained 
a  secret  had  not  the  baffled  bandits  been  so 
indiscreet  as  to  send  a  shower  of  bullets  into 
the  rear  car  of  the  flying  train. 

It  is  a  dang<^rous  thing  to  run  by  a  stop 
signal,  but  whatever  succeeds  is  successful,  and 
the  wisdom  of  the  engineer's  action  was  not 
questioned,  so  far  as  we  know,  by  any  of  the 
railway  officials.  Indeed,  the  same  trick  has 
been  worked  more  than  once  since.  It  was 
done  very  successfully  in  the  lone  cut  on  the 
Lake  Shore  Road  only  a  year  or  two  ago,  but 
it  is  not  safe  to  try  it  too  often  with  the  same 
gang. 

That  night,  when  the  band  had  retired  to  a 


rob- 
amc 
was 
'oce) 
^^.\n. 
jalize 
(\   of 
lulcr- 

uiinctl 
en  so 
s  into 

I   stop 
il,  and 
as  not 
of  the 
Ick  has 
It  was 
on  the 
|<^o,  but 
same 

ii\  to  a 


77/ A"    U'A/fSATC/f  flAXP  O/-    KAXniTS     203 


safe  place  ainon;,'  the  hills  over  nj^iinst  the 
range,  ihcy  hcl«l    in  important  incoting. 

Manifestly,  the  K-adrr  did  not  know  his 
bnsiiu'ss,  and  his  resignation  was  ralli-d  for;  he 
ri'fiiscd  to  siirrtnilcr,  and  tlu'  gang  voted  to 
disband,  lie  had  been  a  poor  provider  at 
best.  The  gang  breakfasted  liglitly,  hinelK'd 
lighter  still,  and  in  the  twilight  stole  away. 
Only  one  man  rennined  loyal  to  the  old 
lea<ler,  and  while  the  others  headed  for  the 
hills  these  desperadoes  rode  back  to  Solitude. 

At  a  flag  station  they  robbed  a  section  house, 
secured  a  red  light  and  a  spike  maul,  and 
determined  to  take  one  more  fall  out  of  the 
midnight  express. 

It  was  Ed  Maloncy's  run  out  that  night,  and 
when  he  armed  himself  with  a  brand  new  six- 
shoolcr  the  trainmen  gave  him  the  lau  ,n.  The 
trainmaster  said  something  about  locking  an 
empty  barn,  but  Maloney  took  the  gun,  shoved 
it  into  the  bosom  of  his  engine  jacket,  and 
pulled  out  for  drand  Junction. 

Almost  every  engineer  has  his  hobby,  and 
Maloney's  specialty  was  the  book  of  rules,  a 
small  volume  printed  by  the  company  for  the 


'iC 


•  ) 


'® 


i  i 


i^^ 


.,  ^ 


..    I     I 


304 


/■'KOX  TtK  K  S  n  tR  tKS 


Kui«lanri?  (if  its  (.'injiloyt'i's.  If  lu-  watitrd  to 
rloan  a  hcadliglit  or  taki*  a  pill  lu:  woiiM  fir^t 
consult  the  book,  aiiil,  if  he  fiiicd  tu  Hiul  any- 
ihiii.i;  printed  on  that  sii))ji'(t,  he  would  then 
j)roci'od,  dililicrali'Iy,  lo  do  the  very  best  l»c 
could  without   in^truf  tioiis. 

"  It  is  niu(  h  better,"  he  used  tt)  say,  "  to 
rely  on  a  good  book  tiian  a  bad  nu-uiory."  He 
had  often  «Ierlareil  to  his  fireman  that  he  ex- 
pected that  little  book  to  save  his  life  sonic 
day. 

However,  upon  this  i)nrti(ul;ir  occasion  he 
elected  to  fortify  himself  with  a  "  forty-five," 
regardless  of  wiial  tiie  trainmen  niigiit  think 
about  it. 

I*'innlly,  there  was  a  loiii,',  mournfii!  blast  of 
the  whistle,  and  when  the  sound  had  died 
away  in  the  desert,  the  conductor  i)icked  up 
his  wiiitc  light,  saiil  "  Solitude,"  and  stepped 
out  on  the  rear  phufonn.  Three  or  four  men 
followed  him,  but  all  they  could  see  was  the 
dripi)ing  railing,  the  chain  across  the  rear  end 
of  the  car,  the  wet  bell-rope  fastened  to  the 
chain,  and  tiic  darkness  closing  rapidly  arouml 
them. 


J 


TflK   IVA/fSATC/f  RAXn  OF  /t.-lXP/rS     305 


.'( 


ist  of 
(lied 
I  un 

IS  the 
r  cud 
o  the 
|i  round 


lliit  wIj.'U  Maloiicy  saw  would  have  turned 
their  liair  i^ray.  It  was  a  regulation  red  lij^ht, 
hut  it  was  not  t)eing  handled  hy  a  car  hand, 
an<l  M.iloney  deternuned  to  disregard  it.  At 
any  other  time  he  would  have  stopped,  but  a 
pre<  edent  had  been  established.  An  en'^ineer 
had  run  past  a  signal  at  this  viry  siding  the 
night  before,  and  had  been  voted  a  great  head  ; 
so  Maloney  only  whistletl,  looked  sharp  and 
let  them  go. 

The  robbers  had  expected  this,  and  that  is 
why  they  had  broken  the  switch  bridle  and 
opened  the  switch  at  the  far  end  of  the  siding. 
Maloney  halt  e.\i)eeli'd  this,  and  the  njonieiit 
his  headlight  shone  upon  the  leaning  target  he 
shut  off,  reversed  and  applied  the  aird)rakes, 
full  upon  the  whirring  wheels. 

A  moment  later  the  big,  black  engine  sliot 
off  in  th'j  desert,  turned  half  over  on  her  lift 
side,  caught  the  fireman  and  crushed  him  to 
death.  Malonev,  thrown  through  the  (  ab  win- 
dow,  floundered  in  the  adobe  mud  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  was  on  his  feet  again.  So  well 
had  he  performed  his  duty  that  all  lh(^  cars 
except  the  mail,  express,  and  smoker,  remained 


if 
/if 


206 


FROXTIER  STORIES 


•'      t 


upon  the  rail.  The  express  cur  was  what  the 
robbers  wanted,  but  it  was  (biven  high  up  on 
the  mail  car,  which  was  resting  on  the  tail  of 
the  tank.  AEaloney,  boiling  with  rage,  felt  for 
his  book  of  rules.  It  was  there  all  right,  but 
there  was  no  light  to  read  by,  and  like  enough 
there  was  no  rule  to  cover  urgent  emergencies, 
such  as  now  confronted  him. 

The  only  rule  he  could  call  to  mind  was  the 
one  at  the  bottom  of  the  time  card,  "  In  case 
of  doubt,  take  the  safe  side,"  and  Maloncy  felt 
for  his  gun.  In  tlie  general  confusion  it  had 
dropped  down  into  his  overalls,  but  he  fished 
it  out  and  approached  the  wreck.  The  oil  box 
in  which  the  supplies  were  carried,  had  been 
jarred  loose  and  driven  up  against  the  furnace 
door.  When  it  had  been  there  a  few  seconds 
the  oil  ignited,  and  instantly  the  whole  interior 
of  the  wrecked  engine  cab  was  aflame.  When 
the  flash  came  it  showed  Maloney  face  to  face 
with  the  two  robbers.  Being  quick  and  cool, 
the  engineer  raised  his  revolver  and  blazed  away 
at  one  of  the  men,  and  the  robber  chief  was 
left  without  a  follower.  Hut,  even  as  Maloney 
pressed  the  trigger,  the  desperado  held  his  own 


I'?  '! 


THE    ll'AHSATCf/   PAXP   OF   /i.-l.VP/TS      207 


had 

ishcd 

A  box 

been 

rnace 
onds 
crior 

^Vhen 

face 

cool, 

away 

f  was 

\loney 

is  own 


gun  close  to  the  engineer's  breast  and  let  go. 
Tlic  conductor  and  passengers  who  were  now 
hurrying  up  from  the  rear,  saw  the  murderous 
weapon  pointed  straight  at  Maloney's  heart  and 
made  no  doubt  but  that  he  would  be  dead  in 
an  instant.  But  when  the  gun  went  off  the 
big  engineer  only  staggered,  clapped  his  left 
hand  over  his  heart,  and  blazed  away  at  the 
robber.  The  spectacle  of  a  man  shot  through 
the  heart  still  showing  fight  seemed  to  fill  the 
bandit  with  terror,  and  being  a  coward,  as 
many  of  these  fellows  are,  he  turned  and  dashed 
away  into  the  darkness,  while  Maloney  still 
holding  his  hand  to  his  left  breast,  sent  stray 
bullets  over  the  desert  where  the  robber  ran. 

In  the  glare  of  the  light  Maloney  opened  his 
shirt  to  look  for  the  bullet  hole,  and  there  was 
only  a  big  red  spot  over  his  heart.  Closing 
his  shirt  he  examined  his  jumper,  pulh.'d  his 
book  of  rules  out,  and  found  a  deep  furrow 
ploughed  across  the  cover. 

"That  did  the  business,"  said  the  engineer, 
as  die  conductf)!  approached.  "  I  told  you 
that  book  would  be  the  saving  of  my  life  some 
day."    And  then  they  started  to  put  out  the  fire. 


i 


OTancatoanDa 


i; 

I 

I 


i'l 


14 


•  t 


I' 


w 


\l[ 


h  ! 


Hi 


■  I 


:      I 


tl 

I' ■ 

1 

1 

1 

:     ■ '   ri 

J 

1 

m 

I 

B 

h    1 . 

WANTAWANDA. 


^r.OlT  the  middle  of  the   first  half  of  the 
present  century  an  English  captain,  named 
Stuart,  came  to  America  to  see  the  show. 

Like  most  of  his  countrymen  he  wanted  to 
get  right  out   on  the   ragged  reef  of  civilisation, 
liang  over  the   edge,  and    look   down   into   the 
unknown.     At   St.  Louis    he   fell   in  with  Fitz- 
patrick,   a    trapper,   who    was   heading    for   the 
Yellowstone    country  with  a  goodly  company  of 
fur  catchers.     The  Englishman  was  an  enthu- 
siastic   sportsman    and    by   the    time   they  had 
reached    the    Rocky    Mountains    he  was   thor- 
oughly convinced  that  this  was  the  wildest  and 
woolliest,  biggest   and   bulPest  country  then  un- 
mapped.    When   they   paused    to  rest,  well  up 
in  the  Rockies,  he  said  he  had  seen  a  lot   of 
fun.     He   had   fought  a  wounded   buffalo   bull 
with  a  pistol,  and  had  killed  a  grizzly  bear  with 
a    bowie;    but    he    was    now    about    to    figure 


2  I 


FROXTIF.R   SmRlFS 


!J.:   I     I 


l\ 


I  s 


Ml 


,*■ 


in  fights  that  would  make  him  forget  these 
things. 

The  party  fell  in  with  a  band  of  Cheyennes 
who  were  encamped  on  the  15ig  Horn,  not  far 
from  a  band  of  Sioux,  with  which  tribe  the 
Cheyennes  happened  to  be  upon  calling  terms 
at  the  moment. 

Fit/patrick,  the  captain  of  the  fur-catchers, 
was  at  homo  with  the  Indians  because  of  the 
crimson  cloth,  red  liquor,  and  other  things  that 
he  would  swap  for  the  robes  and  psltry  of  the 
red  men. 

While  the  trappers  showed  their  trinkets  to 
the  bucks  and  does  of  the  Cheyennes  a  scout 
came  leaping  into  the  light  of  the  camp  fire  to 
say  that  a  small  band  of  Crows  (sparrow-hawks) 
had  come  up  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening 
and  encamped  in  a  caiion  midway  between  the 
Cheyenne  and  the  Sioux  camp. 

"Hoop-a-la  !  "  said  the  Cheyenne  chief,  twirl- 
ing his  battle-axe;  "  mc  heap  hate  a  Crow  for 
he  fight  only  Ingin,  like  a  white  man.  Maby- 
so  me  ketch  'em  Medicine  Calf,  the  curly- 
haired  Crow.     Hoop-a-la  ! " 

To  avoid  the  risk  of  being  surprised  them- 


UAXTAirAXPA 


.> 


these 

ycnnes 
not  far 
be  the 


I  terms 


itchers, 

of  the 

igs  that 

J  of  the 

nkcts  to 
a  scout 

[P  fire  to 
hawks) 
evening 

veen  the 

icf,  twirl- 
:i()\v  for 
INIaby- 
c    curly- 
id  them- 


seUcs,  the  Chcyennes  put  out  their  fires  and 
rolled  up  in  their  blankets  to  sleep,  so  as  to  be 
fresh  and  frisky  at  the  matinee  that  would  oi)cn 
with  the  waking  morn. 

'I'he  Cheyenne  cliief  sent  for  Fit/patrick. 
"  \Vill  the  white  chief  join  me  in  the  sport  at 
the  other  end  of  the  sleep?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  the  trapper;  **  the  Crows  are  our 
friends." 

"  So  they  are  !  so  they  are  !  "  said  the  Indian  ; 
"  and  that  *s  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  want  to 
rub  'em  out ;  but  since  you  arc  so  fond  of  them 
you  may  go  and  sleep  with  'cm  and  I'll  rub  you 
out,  and  all  these  white-livered  coyotes  that 
yelp  at  your  heels.  Hoop-a-la  !  Ingin  git  a 
good  many  fun  this  grass  !  "  And  the  Chey- 
enne jumped  uj)  and  cracked  his  moccasins 
together  so  sharply  that  the  beads  foirly  rattled. 

Fitzpatrick  said  he  would  sec  about  it  and 
went  out. 

In  the  camp  of  the  palefaces  Fitzpatrick 
exj^lnined  the  situation.  Some  of  the  men  said 
the  Crows  were  only  Indians,  and  tliev  miLrht  as 
well  have  fun  with  them  as  not  :  others  said 
the  Crows  had  ahvavs  been  the  fricnus  of  the 


1' 


' 


I 


" 


:i4 


/•KOXTHIK   S  ION  IKS 


white  trappers,  ami  had  helped  them  f'L^ht  the 
bloody  lilackfeet  u[)oii  countless  occasions  ;  but 
a  majority  being  in  favor  ol  gonig,  it  was  so  de- 
cided. Only  the  obstinate  ICnglishman  held 
out.  As  a  matter  of  j)rinciple  he  objected  to 
being  pusluMl  into  a  fight  that  was  not  his. 
Kven  if  the  Crows  had  been  no  better  than  the 
Sioux  or  the  Cheycnnes  he  could  not  see  why 
the  trappers  should  go  out  against  them  just  to 
please  this  pagan.  I>ut  back  of  all  this  there 
was  a  story, — a  very  short  story,  to  be  sure, 
but  long  enough  and  strong  enough  to  hold 
on  to  tlie  honor  of  an  ICnglishman. 

At  Fort  Cass,  where  tiie  Crows  did  tlieir  trad- 
ing, a  drunken  Crow  had  attempted  to  steal  a 
handsome  rifle  from  the  captain,  but  the  watch- 
ful officer  had  caught  him  in  the  act,  followed 
him  into  his  lodge,  levelled  his  pistol,  and 
snapped  a  cap  in  the  Crow's  fiice  ;  whereupon 
the  Indian  swung  his  battle-axe  for  the  English- 
man's head,  and  must  have  killed  him  had  not 
\Vantawanda,  a  Crow  woman,  thrown  a  shawl 
between  the  hatchet  and  the  lOnglishman's  head, 
causing  the  weapon  to  glance.  Seeing  the  In- 
dian enter  the  lodge,  followed  by  tiie  white  man, 


U'l 


ht  the 
s ;  but 
so  clc- 
>  hcl.l 
;tL'd  to 

)l  his. 
lan  the 
cc  wliy 

just  to 
s  there 
le  sure, 
o   hold 

:ir  trad- 
steal  a 
watcli- 
;i)no\ved 
)1,    and 
[:reupon 
MigUsh- 
luid  not 
la  shawl 
"s  head, 
ithe   In- 
ite  man, 


irAXTAirAxn.i 


21 


she  followed  alsD,  and  so  saved  the  English- 
man's life.  Ill"  km  \v  that  she  had  done  this, 
and  upon  tlie  impulse  of  the  moment  seized 
her  l)v  Ixjtli  hands  and  tried  to  thank  her,  but 
she  could  not  understand.  She  onlv  knew  that 
he  was  splendid,  and  tiiat  her  wild  heart  beat 
wildly  in  her  sun-browned  breast  as  he  held  her 
hands.  Tresently,  when  he  released  her,  she 
I)ic.ke(l  up  the  rifle  that  hail  been  abandoned 
by  the  Indian,  placed  it  in  the  captain's  hands, 
and  left  the  lodge. 

The  woman  was  sister  to  Medicine  Calf,  the 
curly-haired  Crow  chief,  who  was  not  a  Crow 
any  more  than  he  was  a  meadow  lark,  but  the 
Crows  did  not  know  this. 

Very  naturally,  now,  the  Englishman's  mind 
wandered  back  to  the  banks  of  the  \'ellowstone 
and  to  Wantu..anda,  who  had  saved  his  life. 
.  The  thing  to  do,  he  said,  was  to  go,  if  the 
chief  said  go.  Co  and  fight,  and  die,  if  neces- 
sary, with  the  friends  of  the  wiiile  man. 

He  was  so  earnest,  and  there  was  so  much 
truth  and  justice  in  what  he  said,  that  it  was 
finally  so  determined  ;  but  when  they  W(juld  go 
they  found  that  the  Cheyennes    had  taken   all 


2lC} 


FRoxnr.K  sroKfrs 


< 


their  liorscs  nn<1  poods  nn«l  rarricd  them  nway 
for  safe  keeping. 

•'  How  is  this?"  nsked  lMt/i):\triek,  entorini; 
the  lodj^e  of  the  (Iheyenne  chief.  "  Yoii  hid  tis 
to  go,  and  wlien  we  would  (K'part  we  Hnd  all 
uiir  horses  ami  goods  arc  gone." 

"It's  only  a  little  Wviy,"  said  the  cliief; 
"can't  you  walk?" 

"  Yes,  but  wc  want  our  horses." 

"You'll  have  wings,  if  white  men  tell  the 
truth,  after  this  sleep,"  said  the  Cheyenne,  with 
a(iui//.ical  look,  which  was  his  nearest  approach 
to  a  smile.  "  My  S([uaws  want  yotir  crimson 
clolh,  my  young  men  your  weajions,  and  I  — 
well,  1  can  use  your  fire-water." 

"  You  '11  want  ice  water  in  an  hour  from  now, 
you  old  thief,"  said  the  trapper,  levelling  his  rifle 
at  the  Indian,  "  if  you  don't  trot  out  my  horses  !  " 

"  Come,"  said  the  Cheyenne,  without  moving 
from  the  rol)e  ujion  which  he  sat  smoking,  '•  this 
is  not  a  thing  to  he  settled  by  you  and  mc.  The 
Crows  are  our  enemies  ;  you  say  they  arc  your 
friends ;  that  makes  you  the  enemy  of  the 
Cheyenne,  to  be  killed  by  my  braves  like  any 
other  encnsv.      I   have  sent  a  messenger  to  the 


% 


ii'A.yrAii'A.ynA 


217 


I  oway 

bi'l  us 
in.l  all 

chief; 


U-ll  the 
lu*.  with 
pnri):ic.h 
crimson 

m.l   I  — 

)in  now, 
bis  lillo 

orscs  ! 
niovini; 

ng, ''  this 
The 

are  your 
of    the 
like;  any 
r  to  the 


v 


camp  of  llic  Sioux.  Thoy  will  come  to  the 
ranon  from  iIjc  siinrisi',  so,"  and  \w  <lrc'w  a 
half  circle  on  \\\c  sand  floor  -"and  we  will 
come  from  tlie  sunset,  so;"  and  the  tireie  was 
C()m|)Iete. 

•'  In  liicre  will  he  the  Crows  with  the  (iirly- 
haired  chief,  who  is  neither  a  whiir  man  nor  a 
red  man,  but  a  bad  black  man  from  ihc  hot 
country,  who  kills  Clicycmu'S,  Sioux,  lilack- 
feet,  and  As-ne-boines  for  the  fun  uf  it." 

"The  Medicine  Calf  is  a  white  man.'  said 
I-'it/patrick,  "  and  a  great  brave." 

*'So?  And  does  the  white  chief  here,  my 
guest  and  brother,  take  the  scalj)  of  liie  In- 
gin?  The  lodge  of  the  Medicine  Calf  is  dark 
with  the  scalps  of  my  people.  I  Fe  knows  not 
the  (lod  of  the  white  man,  but  goes  after  his 
medicine,  dances  the  scalp  dance,  and  marries 
much  Ingin,  yet  he  is  not  of  them.  'I'hey  say 
his  medicine  is  heap  strong  —  that  he  can't  be 
killetl  — we  shall  see." 

"'I'he  Medicine  Calf  is  not  of  this  l)and," 
said  the  trapi)er,  resting  his  .ille  in  the  ciwve  of 
his  left  arm.  "This  band  is  led  by  the  i,iltle 
(]ray  Dull." 


i' 


r;  f 


'/    I 


3l8 


j-A'o.vr/A/i  A/*<)A7/,.y 


"  St> !  riuMi  \vc  s\u\\  Ikivc  llic  hide  »>f  ihc 
I.iulc  (iray  Hull." 

"Come,  will  you  have  my  horses  brought?" 
askeil  tlie  trapper,  tapi)iiig  his  rille  with  his 
roiiL;h  rijijht  haml. 

The  Cheyenne  removed  his  pipe,  swept  the 
air  ill  a  circle,  ami  said  :  "Ihat  would  not  save 
your  scalp,  nor  the  scalps  of  your  men,  nor  of 
your  friends,  the  Crows.  .\ll  about  are  the 
Cheyenne  braves  guardinj;  every  trail.  N'ou 
cannot  escape.  'I'hey  would  come  here  an»l 
kill  you  now,  only  you  are  my  guest.  They 
have  agreed,  if  you  go  with  us  and  fight  the 
Crows,  not  to  kill  you,  but  if  you  refuse,  or  if 
you  should  so  far  forget  your  manners  as  to 
murder  your  host,  then  you  shall  all  die." 

l''it/p.itrick  saw  the  folly  of  resistance,  and  so 
bowed  to  the  pagan  and  backed  out,  for  the 
pagan  had  a  gun. 

When  the  matter  had  been  discussed  in  tlie 
camp  of  the  trappers  it  was  derided  that  they 
should  accompany  the  Cheycnnes  with  as  much 
cheerfulness  and  sd/it^/nu)/  as  they  ccnild  com- 
mand, but  when  it  came  to  the  fight  they  would 
all  shoot  high.      Later,  if  they  kept  tiieir  hair. 


U'A.yTAWA.S'nA 


219 


of  lUc 

,iih  his 

.•ci)t  the 
iu)l  save 
»,  nor  of 

;irc  the 
111.  Vou 
iicrc  unci 
t.     'I'hcy 

fi^ht  the 
[iise,  or  i( 
crs  as  to 

lie. 

t',  ami  so 

I,  for  Uie 

sr.l  iu  ihi-* 
1  ilKit  they 
h  ;is  mvich 
ould  conv 
|they  wouUl 
their  luiir, 


I''it/patri<  k  would  fxi)Ialn  tlie  whole  affair  to  the 
iniiLillo  ( liief,  Meilieilk;  Calf,  and  all  would  be 
well. 

Slill  tiie  I'!ngli-,lunan  dcuuirrcil.  There  were 
three  or  four  others  in  the  party,  who  were  out 
merely  for  pleasure,  but  who  hail  been  given  to 
understand  that  in  all  matters  affecting  the  safety 
of  the  party  they  would  be  expected  to  obey 
the  captain,  l'"it/.i)atri(  k,  without  a  murmur. 
A  trapper's  outfit  in  the  20's  ami  30*8  was  an 
absolute  monarchy,  and  tiie  cajjtain  of  the 
comi)any  was  the  monarcli.  'I'his  fact  was 
impressed  upon  the  linglisiiman  by  Dr.  Har- 
rison (a  son  of  "Tippecanoe  "),  and  finally  the 
Briton  bowed  to  the  inevitable. 

Tiie  night  was  nearly  done  when  the  white 
men  rolled  up  their  blankets —  about  all  they 
possessed  now  —  and  fell  asleep. 

Long  before  day  the  captain  of  the  trappers 
was  summoned  before  the  chief,  who  demanded 
to  know  the  decision  of  the  white  men. 

"  We  will  follow  the  great  chief,"  said  the 
trapper,  submissively. 

"  Good  !  only  you  must  march  in  front  to  tiie 
canon,  then  fall  in  the  middle.     We  would  not 


if-      .^--^^--c* 


W 


220 


FliON I'll.R    S  TORIES 


...     I 


«  .1 


(U'privc  our  wliil-j  brothers  of  the  glory  of  the 
battle." 

And  so  they  went,  the  whites  in  front,  fol- 
lowed by  all  the  warri(jrs  antl  braves  of  the 
("hcyenne  band.  At  dawn  they  stood  upon 
the  sloping  wall  of  the  wide,  shallow  canon, 
the  whites  in  the  centre,  the  Indians  on  either 
flank.  As  the  day  began  to  dawn  they  could 
discern  the  Sioux  outlined  upon  the  opposite 
bluff.  Down  in  the  quiet  vale  the  Crows  still 
slept,  rolled  in  their  blankets,  nor  dreamed  of 
danger.  A  more  c[uiet,  peaceful  scene  could 
not  be  imagi.ied.  It  had  been  raining  some- 
where afar  off  toward  the  Oregon  coast,  and  the 
far  western  sky  was  covered  with  a  flaky  veil, 
through  which  the  l)lue  began  to  show,  lit  by 
the  light  of  breaking  morn.  Of  a  sudden  the 
Crows  began  to  spring  up.  The  enemy  had 
been  discovered.  The  water,  racing  down  the 
caiion  after  countless  cloud  bursts,  had  planed  a 
groove  in  the  bottom  of  the  narrow  vale,  and  in 
this  furrow  the  Crows  placed  themselves  to 
receive  the  shock  of  the  charge.  At  a  signal 
from  the  Cheyenne  chief  the  battle  began. 

The  chief  in   command  of  the  massacre  (it 


I 


JtojaHh-anw  ■ 


.'J-  -  M><V*HHIh«4«^W^' » 


U- A. XT  Air, IX  DA 


:2i 


jf  ihc 

U,  fol- 
of  the 
upon 
canon, 
I  either 
y  coviUl 
)pposite 
)\vs  still 
imcd  of 
ic   could 
g  somc- 
,  and  the 
aky  veil, 
w,  lit  by 
Iden  the 
my  had 
lown  the 
planed  a 
e,  and  in 
elves    to 
a  signal 
ij-an. 
Issacre  (it 


was  not  a  battle,  for  the  Crows  were  out- num- 
bered fifty  to  one)  soon  discovered  that  the 
range  was  too  long.  The  bullets  missed  the 
mark,  for  the  Indians  at  that  time  were  only 
amateur  marksmen,  and  all  the  arrows  fell 
short.  He  ordered  his  braves  to  charge,  and 
the  scalp-hungry  C'heyennes  began  to  slide  and 
fall  down  the  hill,  while  the  Sioux  followed  the 
example  of  their  allies.  The  white  men,  how- 
ever, held  back,  only  advancing  far  enough  to 
avoid  punishment  at  the  hands  of  the  Chey- 
ennes.  Seeing  themselves  surrounded  and  com- 
pletely cut  off,  the  Crows  began  that  stubbtjrn 
stand  that  is  invariably  made  by  men  who  give 
no  quarter  and  ask  none. 

As  the  enemy  advanced  from  either  side,  the 
Crows,  who  were  great  warriors,  and  who,  owing 
to  their  close  relations  with  the  A'hites,  always 
had  an  abundance  of  ammunition  and  good 
guns,  delivered  a  killing  fire,  causing  their  ene- 
mies to  fall  back  to  the  foot  of  the  bluffs.  Two 
or  three  Cheyennes  and  as  many  Sioux  had 
been  killed  and  carried  to  the  rear.  A  number 
of  warriors  had  received  severe  and  painful 
wounds,  causing  all  of  them   to  thirst   for  the 


222 


FROXriER  S  TOR  IE?, 


/ 


blood  of  the  Crows.  Anotlicr  charge  was  or- 
dered. This  time  the  two  red  Hues  of  nearly 
naked  warriors  came  nearer  to  the  narrow  gully 
from  which  the  Crows  were  sending  forth  a 
sweeping  rain  of  lead.  Many  a  Crow  was  seen 
by  the  whites,  who  had  remained  upon  the  high 
ground,  to  fall  from  the  edge  of  the  ditch  as  the 
Cheyennes  advanced.  After  five  or  ten  minutes 
the  Indians  broke  again,  picking  up  their  dead 
and  wounded  on  the  way  back  to  the  bluffs. 
The  whites  were  forgotten  now,  so  wild  had  the 
Indians  become.  A  dozen  Cheyennes  lay  dead, 
and  the  Sicux  had  suffered  severely.  Again 
they  charged.  This  time  they  cane  quite  near 
to  the  trench  that  was  rapidly  filling  with  the 
bodies  of  the  brave  band,  while  along  the  bed 
of  the  dry  arroyo  a  red  rill  rij^plcd  from  the 
drifted  dead.  Ever  in  the  wildest  of  the  fight, 
the  waving  feathers  of  the  Little  Gray  liull, 
leader  of  the  band,  could  be  seen,  first  upon 
one  side  and  then  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
trench,  fighting  and  calling  to  the  enemy  to 
come  on.  Gradually  the  resistance  of  the 
Crows  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and  finally 
ceased.      Again    from    the   death-trench   came 


;'t|iirlf=««»»"' 


if.ix r.i  irA.v/>.-i 


oil 


,vas  or- 

:  nearly 

)W  gully 

forth  a 

vas  seen 

the  high 

;h  as  the 
minutes 

keir  dead 

le  bluffs. 

,  had  the 

lay  dead, 

'.     Again 

^uite  near 
with  the 

g  the  bed 
from  the 
the  fight, 
ray  r>ull, 

[first  upon 
^de  of  the 
enemy  to 
|e  of  the 
nd  finally 
nch  came 


the  Little  (iray  Bull,  foaming  and  bellowing, 
and  daring  the  hulians  to  come  and  kill  him. 
The  spectacle  of  this  brave,  who  seemed  to  bear 
a  charmed  life,  so  terrified  the  Sioux  that  they 
fled  by  the  hr.ndred  as  he  advanced.  Turning, 
the  iUiU  saw  that  the  Chcycnnes  still  held  their 
ground  near  the  trench.  Leaping  over  his 
dead  comrades  the  chief  advanced  towards  the 
Cheyennes,  waving  his  batUe-axe,  and  to  the 
amazement  of  the  whites,  they  too  fled.  They 
called  to  the  Crow  to  go,  that  he  was  too  great 
a  brave  to  be  killed.  "  My  heart  is  too  fiill  of 
hate  for  you,"  said  he,  "  to  accept  your  mercy. 
]\Iy  people  will  take  vengeance  upon  you  and  your 
friends.  Come,  you  cowards,  and  kill  the  Little 
Gray  Bull.  He  has  ridden  your  horses  until  he  is 
tired  of  riding.  Your  squaws  are  his  slaves  ;  his 
lodge  is  darkened  by  the  scalps  of  the  Cheyennes." 

Again  he  charged  and  the  Cheyennes  crouched 
still  closer  to  the  cliff. 

At  this  juncture,  while  the  whites  were  admir- 
ing, and  the  Indians  dreading,  the  daring  brave, 
a  half-breed  Snake,  a  horse-herder,  took  aim 
and  shot  the   Little  (iray  Bull  dead. 

"There,"  said  the  half  savage,  who  is  usually 


t 


I' 


J 


p 

I 

i 

• 

J 

■i  ' 

1 

24 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


worse  than  u  wliole  savage,  "  we  can  go  to 
breakfast." 

Ill  the  trench  all  were  dead  except  two  Crow 
boys,  —  moccasin-bearers.  These  the  Chey- 
ennes  made  prisoners,  and  after  dividing  the 
gruesome  trophies  of  war  with  the  Siuux,  the 
Cheyennes,  accompanied  by  the  whites,  started 
back  to  camp. 

As  they  rode  along,  the  Crow  boys  sitting  be- 
hind their  respective  captors,  the  little  savages 
held  (|uict  converse  by  nod  and  sign.  Pres- 
ently each  drew  a  knife  and  plunged  it  into 
his  captor,  killing  both  instantly.  The  startled 
braves  turned  upon  the  boys  and  hacked  them 
to  pieces.  This  they  had  expected,  no  doubt, 
but  chose  death,  and  this  measure  of  revenge, 
rather  than  to  become  slaves  of,  or  warriors  with, 
the  Cheyennes. 

Upon  reaching  camp  the  Cheyenne  chief  re- 
turned all  the  horses  and  other  property  to  the 
trappers,  who,  glad  to  be  off,  set  out  for  the 
Crow  country.  \\'hen  they  had  arrived  within 
a  few  miles  of  the  Crow  village  Fitzpatrick  sent 
a  messenger,  asking  the  curly-haired  chief  to 
visit  him.     The  Medicine  Calf  said  he  was  too 


,  1' 


jr.LVTAJI'AXDA 


223 


go   to 

o  Crow 
Chcy- 
ing  the 
jux,  the 
,  started 

Lthig  be- 
;  savages 
I.     Tres- 
il  it  into 
3  startled 
<.cd  them 
^o  doubt, 
revenge, 
iors  with, 

chief  re- 
ty  to  the 

for  the 
id  within 
nick  sent 

chief  to 
e  was  too 


busy,  but  invited  the  trapper  to  come  to  the  vil- 
lage. When  the  trappers  had  made  camp  near 
the  Crows  the  cliicf  called  upon  them,  and  in 
the  evening  of  the  same  day  Fitzpatrick  and  his 
companions  returned  the  call.  The  sjilendid 
horses  that  tiie  trappers  rode  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  Crows  at  once,  for  they  were 
great  horse  thieves  as  well  as  great  '^'arriors. 

AVhcn  the  rest  had  retired  to  the  camp  of  the 
trappers  without  the  village  Fitzpatrick  remained 
to  talk  with  the  Medicine  Calf,  whom  he  had 
known  in  St.  Loui",  w'here  he  had  lived  before 
he  became  a  Crow.  Gradually  now  the  trap- 
per told  the  chief  of  the  massacre  of  the  band 
of  Crows,  and  of  the  bravery  of  the  Litde  Gray 
IJull.  He  did  not,  however,  tell  how  one  of  his 
half-breed  herders  had  killed  the  Bull  in  order 
that  he  might  go  to  breakfast. 

The  Medicine  Calf  was  in  a  rage  in  a  mo- 
ment. He  had  Lved  so  long  with  the  Crows, 
had  lied  so  luminously  to  them  about  his  "  medi- 
cine," and  the  awful  pull  of  the  rabbit's  foot 
that  he  wore  about  his  black  neck,  that  he  had 
actually  come  to  take  himself  seriously  and  to 
believe  the  things  he  said. 

IS 


h 


r    ) 


)' 


f 


'k' 


t 


J 


.\ 


226 


/■■AOX TIER   S /OKIES 


When  the  trapiJcr  liacl  left  the  hog.;  11  (jf  the 
chief  a  Crow  warrior  slid  noiselessly  into  the 
awful  presence. 

"  Uh  !  can  the  Medicine  Calf  sleep  when  the 
enemy  is  among  us?"  asked  the  Indian,  seeing 
the  Calf  rolled  up  in  his  Mankets. 

"What  enemy?" 

"  'i'iie  paleface  —  the  enemy  that  pretends  to 
be  a  friend.  One  of  them  rides  my  father's 
horse,  which  he  could  only  do  after  killing  the 
Little  Gray  JJull." 

"  Thc>  are  my  friends,"  said  the  Medicine 
Calf;   "  be  good  to  them." 

With  a  grunt  that  showed  disgust  the  young 
Indian  strode  out  to  spread  the  story  of  his  dis- 
covery throughout  the  village. 

No  doubt  the  Medicine  Calf  smelled  trouble 
here,  but  the  negro  that  was  in  him  made  him 
drowsy,  the  white  man  that  was  in  him  (his 
father  was  Fiench)  made  him  wish  the  rival 
fur  catchers  away,  while  the  savage  that  he  had 
acquired  made  him  more  or  less  indifferent 
when  it  was  only  a  question  of  the  life  or  death 
of  a  score  or  so  of  the  two-legged  animals  of  the 
earth ;  so  he  rolled  over  and  fell  asleep. 


^(jhiJHWWiiliiiiiiilL- 


II  AX  r.i  WAX  DA 


^^1 


of  the 
ito  the 

icn  the 
,  seehig 


;cnds  to 

father's 

ling  the 

ledicine 

e  young 
■  his  dis- 

t  rouble 

\de  him 

im    (his 

he   rival 

he  had 

lifferent 
or  death 

Is  of  the 


Krom  a  half-breed  in  the  trapper's  outfit  one 
of  tlie  bcjuaws  had  the  story  of  the  slaugluer,  but 
nothing  of  the  part  the  whites  had  taken,  and 
when  that  story  met  and  got  mixed  up  with  the 
horse  story  the  village  began  to  boil.  Indians 
were  dodging  from  lodge  to  lodge.  The  son  of 
the  Little  (Iray  lUill  took  command,  keeping 
the  warriors  away  from  the  chief's  lodge,  and 
by  midnight  had  everything  arranged  for  the 
massacre  of  Fitzpatrick  and  his  party.  They 
were  to  take  no  guns.  In  order  that  the  peace- 
ful slumbers  of  the  Medicine  Calf  might  not  be 
broken,  they  had  arranged  to  steal  upon  the 
unsusi)ecting  trappers  and  tomahawk  them  while 
they  slept. 

In  a  lodge  not  far  from  the  Medicine  Calf  an 
interpreter  and  clerk  for  the  American  fur  com- 
pany, named  \Mnters,  was  sleeping  that  night. 
Shortly  after  midnight  he  heard  some  one  creep- 
ing into  his  tent.  It  was  an  Indian  woman. 
"  Get  up,"  said  she,  "  the  Crows  are  going  to 
kill  all  the  white  people  that  are  camped  in  the 
canon." 

The  interpreter  leaped  from  his  couch, 
when  the  woman,  knowing  what  he  would  do, 


V     '' 


i ' 


!  I 


m  \ 


I 


2JS 


/■K OX /•//■:/!  s/OK//:s 


threw    her    arms    about    him   ami   hugged   him 


down. 


<( 


Let  mc  go  !  "  he  hissed. 


"Where? 


<( 


T 


o  warn  the  Medicine  Calf  and  save  the 
people." 

"  IJut  you  cannot.  They  are  guarding  liiir* 
and  you.  Clive  me  paper-talk.  I  cannot  speak 
with  the  white  people,  but  give  r.ie  paper- 
talk  and  I  will  put  it  into  the  hand  of  the  tall 
brave  who  rides  the  big  white  horse." 

*'  I  low  can  you  leave  the  village  and  reach  the 
camp?  " 

"  I  '11  find  the  way,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand  eagerly  for  the  paper-talk  that  should  warn 
and  save  the  whites. 

Believing  this  to  be  the  surest  and  quickest 
way  of  reaching  the  trappers,  the  interpreter, 
leaning  from  the  door  of  his  tent,  wrote  by  the 
dim  light  of  the  stars  :  "  Fly  for  your  lives,  all 
of  you  —  the  Crows,"  and  signed  his  name, 
which  was  well  known  to  the  captain  of  the 
trappers. 

Noiselessly  as  a  moccasin-footed  rabbit  moves 
over  the  face  of  a  ledge  the  Indian  girl  stole 


lI  him 


,ve  the 

ig  hirn 

t  s[)cak 

papcr- 

Ihc  tall 

ach  the 

out  her 
Id  warn 

uickest 
rpretcr, 
by  the 
ivcs,  all 
name, 
of  the 

moves 
111  stole 


U'AyTAirAXDA 


229 


from  the  tent,  and  when  slie  had  left  the  village 
behind  her  s[)ed  through  the  forest  like  u  fright- 
ened deer. 

The  whites  were  all  asleep,  and  being  in  the 
Crow  country,  where  all  whites  were  consid- 
ered safe,  had  no  guards  out.  Already  their 
horses  had  been  rounded  up  and  led  away  by 
the  Crows.  'I'iie  Indian  stole  silently  into  the 
camp.  Near  a  dim  fire  she  found  the  laiglish 
cai)tain  and  touched  his  hand.  Immediately 
he  sat  up.  "Who's  here?"  he  whisjjered,  Un 
the  touch  of  the  woman's  hand  told  him  that  it 
was  the  hand  of  a  friend.  **  Wantawanda,"  said 
the  girl,  i)ressing  the  paper  into  his  hand. 
Holding  the  letter  close  to  a  coal  the  white 
man  read  what  was  written  there.  A  cold 
wave  swept  over  him  as  he  got  to  his  feet,  just 
in  time  to  see  the  faithful  Indian,  who  had  once 
before  saved  his  life,  leap  into  the  black  forest 
on  her  way  back  to  the  village.  Instantly  the 
captain  of  the  outfit  was  notified,  the  camj)  was 
awakened,  the  fires  smolhercd  out,  and  every 
man  ready  to  mount  his  horse.  Alas !  no 
horses  could  be  found  !  This  was  no  time  to 
try  to  find   them.     Every  moment's  delay  in- 


k 


230 


/•Ko.wni.K  s/OA'/i:s 


in 


■i  .  I 


creased  liic  danger,  and  if  the  Crows  should 
discover  liicin  trying  to  escajjc,  that  would 
mean  death  to  all  of  tiicm.  IMacing  himself 
at  the  head  of  the  little  comi)any  of  thirty  or 
forty  men  Kil/patrick  led  them  in  a  half-circ  le 
around  tiie  village  and  down  the  river. 

And  so,  when  the  son  of  the  Little  Oray  Hull, 
followed  by  his  band,  leaped  into  the  camp  of 
the  trai)[)ers,  they  hacked  and  chopped  into  the 
empty  blankets  that  had  been  abandoneil  by  the 
white  men. 

In  a  little  while  they  found  the  trail,  but 
could  not  follow  it  in  the  forest.  Impatiently 
they  waited  for  the  dawn,  and  long  before  it 
was  light  enough  for  a  white  man  to  see  they 
were  hot  upon  the  trail  of  the  trai)i)ers. 

Hearing  a  great  noise  in  the  village,  the  Medi- 
icine  Calf  came  from  his  tent  and  asked  a  squaw 
what  the  racket  was  all  about. 

"The  whites  have  all  been  killed,"  said  the 
woman  ;  "  did  n't  you  know  it?  " 

Now  the  while  man  that  was  in  the  curly- 
haired  chief  came  to  the  surface.  Hastening  to 
the  tent  of  the  interpreter  he  found  it  full  of 
Crows.    The  interpreter  said  he  had  wanted  to  go 


I 


irAX/Alt'AXnA 


23» 


curly- 
ling  to 


to  the  chief,  but  the  Indians  wouhl  not  Ut  him. 
The  whites,  he  hid  learned,  had  gone  down  the 
river,  followed  by  about  a  llious^nd  Indians. 

Suddenly  the  Medicine  Calf  became  wild. 
Tart  of  this  might  have  been  for  the  benefit  of 
the  interpreter,  but  it  scemecl  real  rage.  "  I  am 
mad  !  "  he  shouted  in  the  Crow  tongue,  leap- 
ing upon  his  war  horse.  "'I'he  Medicine  Calf 
goes  to  die  for  his  friends,  the  whites  !  "  and 
away  he  went,  followed  by  the  "  Dog  soldiers." 
Some  six  or  ci^'ht  miles  from  the  village  he 
overtook  the  Crows,  who  were  at  that  moment 
surrounding  the  trapi)ers.  Dashing  through  the 
line  the  chief  rode  to  where  the  whites  were 
huddled  for  a  last  stand,  and  shouted  to  the 
Indians  to  stand  back.  With  all  his  bluster 
and  bravado,  his  love  for  the  sjjectacle  of 
Indian  warfare  and  the  wild  wiioop  of  the 
slaughter,  this  more  than  half  white  man  was 
absolutely  indifferent  to  personal  danger.  It 
required  a  brave,  cool  man  to  face  these  sav- 
ages, who  were  thirstihg  for  the  blood  of  the 
trappers,  whom  tiicy  regarded  as  the  slayers  of 
their  brother-braves. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  the  little  band  of 


2.J-' 


J-KOXri/iK   srOKtES 


v\ 


inKf.ujcs  ih.ii  llicy  must  all  l)c  swept  away,  but 
by  «lrfily  touching'  the  ♦«  Mcuicinr  "  ar  his  throat 
ami  rciniii'iiii},'  llie  Crows  that  he  was  tiu-ir 
great  cliirf,  that  these  men  were  his  guests, 
ami  that  if  they  deserved  killing  there  w;>s  no 
call  for  undue  haste,  he  held  them  hack. 

In  the  meantime,  speaking  in  English  to  the 
wliilcs,  lie  hade  liuin  eacii  mount  behind  an 
Indian,  —  his  body  guard,  or  statV,  called  the 
*'  Hog  soldiers,"  iK":ause  they  \V()rshii)i)ed  dogs, 
having  crowded  about  to  jjrotect  tlieir  chief. 

All    the    whiles    mounted    save    the    I'aiulish 


captain. 


I  '11    not    ride    behind    one    of  the 


thieves,"  said  he;  and  then,  shaking  his  fist  at 
the  Medicine  ('  ilf,  said  in  strong  Ilnglish,  •'  Any 
man  who  would  live  among  these  red  devils  is 
a  danmed  rascal." 

This  so  enraged  the  Calf  that  he  would  have 
made  the  Englishman  suffer  for  his  rashness 
had  he  noL  dreaded  the  consequences.  The 
interpreter  at  tlie  vilbge  would  hear  of  it, 
though  all  the  trappers  perished  in  a  moment, 
and  it  would  be  hard  to  cxjjlain  away.  l>esides, 
he  would  not  care  to  have  the  blood  of  so 
many  wliiles  \\\m)\\  his  hands;  so  he  let  it  pass. 


ny,  but 

throat 

^  their 

^Ul'StH, 

kv;'S  no 

to  the 

iiul  an 
led  the 
il  (logs, 
lief. 

laigUsh 
of  the 
s  (M  at 
f.'*Any 
evils  is 

have 

ishness 

The 

of    it, 

Dim  nt, 

iesides, 

of   so 

t  pass. 


trMXTAirAXPA 


2.V; 


rinally  the  Mnglishinan,  rather  than  be  sralpeil. 
rotle  bark  to  tin*  village  with  the  rest. 

After  niiK  h  talk  the  rhief  succeeded  in  hav- 
ing the  horses  and  otlur  property  restored  t«» 
the  whites,  except  the  horse  that  had  l)elonge<l 
to  the  Little  dray  Hull  (wludi  they  had  brought 
from  the  Cheyenncs),  the  fire-water  that  had 
evaporated,  and  the  red  <  loiii  th.it  the  s<iii.uvs 
)iad  alreaily  ripi)ed  up  for  shawls  and  blankets. 

.Again  the  little  army  of  fur  hunters,  adven- 
turers, .and  sight-sceers,  set  out  for  more  eon- 
genial  ronuuiuiities,  f(jllowed,  that  nighf,  by  the 
son  of  the  dead  Hull  and  a  romi)any  of  expert 
horse-thieves,  'i'wo  sleeps  from  the  Crow  vil- 
lage they  came  upon  the  camp  of  the  tripjiers 
and  stole  every  hoof  of  their  stork,  and  left 
them  to  walk  out  of  the  land  of  the  Crows. 

After  months  of  wandering  in  the  wilds  of  the 
West  the  l-aiglish  captain  reached  St.  Louis, 
where  he  bought  a  mile  of  beads,  a  few  acres 
of  crimson  cloth,  and  countless  other  trin- 
kets, and  forwarded  them  to  I'ort  Cass,  for 
Wantawanda. 


It 


I 

If.: 


m 


;ii 


Mi 


fl 


m 


t 


Qi  Coiiplr  0'  Capcaius( 


1 


1 


, 


m 


^ 


•■  i  1 

i 

r 

1 

"I 


J^'mmkmum.AHtmmiiUum 


how 


A   COUPLE  O'   CAPTAINS. 

"  T'-^IMJN'Y  Chrisfuas,"  groaned  Tom, 
J     my  arm  aclius  !  " 
•'  Uon't  think  o'  your  arm,"  said  Gene,  twist- 
■ng  .n  his  biankees.     "  1  M  take  your  woun.l  for 
the  prospect  of  promotion  that  hangs  over  your 
head."  ^ 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Tom,  and  he  sighed  heavily 
The  stars  were  burning  like  coals  of  fire  in 
the  blue  above  them,  and  all  about  the  winds 
were  breathing  in  the  sagebush.     The  two  boys 
had  been  in  battle  that  day -a  hot  fight  with 
the    Sioux -and    Tom    had    belabored    and 
larruped    a    wily    warrior     singlehanded     and 
alone  under  the  very  nose  of  the  Colonel,  and 
for  that  reason,  and  not  because  he  had  received 
a  slight  though  painful  wound  in  his  arm,  his 
comrade  Gene  argued   that  promotion   would 
come  to  Tom.     It  did  come,  and  still  another 
and   in   less   than  a   month's   time   he  was   a 
captain. 


>3« 


I'ROXT/r.R   STORIES 


v:  ik 


Gene  was  a  big,  brave,  strong  youth,  and  it 
was  not  long  until  he,  too,  began  to  take  on 
markers  at  the  tops  of  his  shoulders.  Without 
any  of  that  invisible  something  commonly  called 
"  puUj"  both  boys  fought  themselves  up,  so  that 
at  the  end  of  the  five  years'  strife  with  the  Sioux 
they  were  captains  of  cavalry.  . '  was  all  very 
exciting,  even  thrilling  at  times.  Ikit  the  war 
ended  one  fine  day,  as  wars  will,  and  the  two 
captains  found  themselves  without  employment, 
and  one  of  them  at  least  without  tangible 
means  of  support.  The  disbanding  of  the  army 
had  thrown  some  thousands  of  men  suddenly 
upon  a  country  in  which  all  the  good  jobs 
seemed  to  be  filled. 

"We  must  do  something,"  said  Tom. 

"  Yes,"  assented  his  friend  ;  **  we  '11  have  to 
get  married  or  go  to  work  sooner  or  later,  1 
suppose." 

"  I  wish  we  could  get  into  something  to- 
gether." 

"  Like  enough  if  we  did  get  in  together, 
they'd  put  us  in  separate  cells,"  said  Gene. 
He  had  money  —  not  much  perhaps  —  but 
money,  and  parents  well-to-do,  and   could  af- 


■■'^imKmmlmmti^ms> 


A    COUPLE  0'  CAPTAIXS 


-39 


ford  to  joke.  But  it  was  a  serious  matter  with 
Tom.  He  was  as  poor  as  a  CIreek  and  as 
pnKid  as  a  Spaniard.  One  day  he  hailed  Gene 
with  a  happy  shout,  and  announced  that  he  had 
a  job  for  both,  where  they  could  work  together 
by  day  and  bunk  together  at  night. 

''So  it's  work,  is  it?"  asked  Gene,  looking 
his  friend  over. 

"'  Well,  yes.     You  were  not  expecting  a  job 
stopping  balls  in  a  tennis  court,  were  you  ?  " 

"Not  exactly;  but  I  thought  we  were  going 
into  some  sort  of  business  together." 

"This  is  business  — good  business,  and  you 
wind  :t  up  with  a  brake-chain  every  time  the 
whistle  blows." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Braking  on  the  BurHngton." 

"W-h-at?" 

"  Braking  on  the  Burlington." 

Gene  smiled. 

The  Burlington  had  just  been  opened  as  far 
as  Omaha,  and  Ottumwa  was  only  a  small  set- 
tlement.  Iowa  was  right  out  on  the  raw  edge 
of  the  wide,  wild  West.  The  Indians  were 
wrecking  stations  and  robbing  freight  cars,  and 


M* 


')i 


I 


51.  \ 


I 


m 


&  I  \ 


il; 


M 


I 


t 


240 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


il  flagman  three  cars  from  the  caboose  could  n't 
call  his  scalp  his  own. 

"Passenger  train,  I  presume?"  said  Gene, 
breaking  the  hush. 

"  Freight." 

"What?" 

"  Freight." 

"  Say,  Tom,  you  're  crazy.  What  you  wr.nt 
to  throw  yourself  away  0,1  a  bjx  car  for?  It 
won't  do  —  not  for  me  —  it 's  preposterous  !  " 

"  It  beats  walking." 

"  Perhaps,  but  we  have  n't  had  to  walk  yet. 
Think  of  it !  Society  column  of  the  Chicago 
'  Tribune,'  *  Captain  Smith  raid  Captain  Jones 
are  braking  on  freight  out  of  Ottumwa.'  Come, 
Tom,  I  'm  not  broke  yet ;  besides,  you  are  too 
young  and  handsome  to  be  killed." 

"Then  you  won't  go?" 

"No,"  said  Gene,  and  he  commenced  to 
sing  :  "  Don't  you  go.  Tommy,  don't  go ;  stay 
away,  Tommy,  don't  go." 

"  Well,  I  've  always  feared  it  would  come  to 
this  sooner  or  later,"  said  Tom.  lie  held  out 
his  hand,  and  Gene  took  it. 

"  I  love  you.  Tommy,"  said  he ;  "but  I  can't 


"ItfttHWsMiMnr 


yt    COrPLE   (V   CAPTA/XS 


-41 


join  you  in  a  blue  jumper  and  go  skating  with 
you  over  the  icy  tops  of  rolHng  h(».vcarsj." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Tom. 

"Good-bye  !  God  be  good  to  you,  captain 
—  my  captain  !  " 

"The  same  to  you,"  called  Tom,  and  his 
friend  watched  him  wander  away  down  among 
the  cars  in  the  newly  railed  freight  yards. 

"  Ticket,"  called  the  conductor. 

The  man  wao  reading. 

"'] uket,"  and  he  touched  the  man's  shoulder, 
and  the  man  looked  up. 

"  Why—  hel-lo,  Tom.     What  you  doing?  " 

"  I  'm  trying  to  run  this  train,"  said  Tom, 
passing  the  punch  to  his  left  hand  in  order  to 
shake  the  hand  the  passenger  held  out. 

When  the  conductor  had  worked  the  train, 
he  came  back  to  the  passenger  with  the 
book. 

"  Say,  Gene,"  said  the  ticket-taker,  "  I  was 
so  elated  over  this  unexpected  pleasure  that  I 
forgot  to  get  your  ticket.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  make  me  ask  the  third  time  for  it." 

"  Well,  you  can  keep  right  on,  for  I  've  got 

16 


242 


/■KOXTIIIR  STO/://:s 


I. 


it  ' 


fl 


I  i 


'I   * 


no  ticket.  I  had  barely  time  to  throw  myself 
aboard  as  the  train  pulled  out." 

"Well,  you've  got  money,  haven't  you? 
'Cause  if  you  have  n't,  I  know  where  you  can 
borrow." 

Gene  smiled  and  gave  up,  and  then  the  two 
ex-captains  of  cavalry  sat  and  talked  of  the  old 
days,  when  there  were  no  railroads  there. 

"  Well,  Tom,  you  've  made  a  great  success  of 
this  railroad  business,  and  1  'm  proud  of  you," 
said  Gene,  glancing  at  the  bright  blue  uniform 
the  captain  wore. 

Tom  smiled.  "  What  arc  you  driving  at. 
Gene?" 

"  Readin'  law." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  "I  guess  that'll  beat 
brakin'   on  freight." 

And  so  the  two  men  talked  on  to  the  end  of 
the  run ;  the  conductor  dropped  off,  and  the 
law  student  went  on  to  Chicago. 


!  t 


In  the  jam  and  crowd  about  the  gates  of 
the  Burlington  station  at  Chicago  men  often 
bump  up  against  old  comrades  unexpectedly, 
and  so  it   fell  out  that  as  Gene  was  sweeping 


A    COUrLE   0'  CAPTAtXS 


J43 


through  a  narrow  gate  he  ran  bang  into  a 
man. 

'•I Kilo,  Gene,"  said  the  man;  "wait  a 
moment." 

Gene  waited  impatiently,  for  five  minutes,  it 
seemed  to  him.  He  was  glad  enough  to  meet 
an  old  friend,  but  the  diagram  had  gone  to  the 
sleeping-car  contluctor,  and  Gene  wanted  to 
secure  a  place.  I''inally,  as  the  train  was  about 
to  pull  out  —  in  fcict  the  time  was  up  by  the 
big  clock  on  the  wall  —  the  wailing  traveller 
was  gladdened  by  the  reappearance  of  the  busy 
man. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Tom?  Do 
you  want  me  to  get  left?" 

Tom  smiled.  "  My  dear  (jcnc,  don't  you 
know  this  train  would  not  pull  out  without 
you?" 

"That's  all  very  funny,"  Gene  replied; 
"'  but  I  've  got  no  place  to  sleep." 

"  Well,  you  won't  sleep  much  to-night,  fur 
you  are  going  to  sit  up  and  visit  with  me." 

P>y  this  time  Tom  had  been  met  by  a  smart 
black  porter,  who,  at  a  faint  signal  from  his 
master,  took  the  hand  baggage  from  the  over- 


r* ' 


' 


I 


fc 


244 


jRO.wri/:K  UTOK/r.s 


an 


xiotis  traveller  and  ;       14)  the  rear  steps  ut 


llic  rearmost  car. 


<( 


<( 


Is  this   my    car?"    asked    dene,   stopping 

glancing  along  the  platform. 

Xo,  it's  mine;  but  you  can  ride.     Come, 


iiand 


;lf  aboard  \   I  slui'  n't  make  you  put 


I'oursci 
up  this  trip." 

The  train  conductor,  ever  alert,  saw  the  two 
men  enter  the  car,  lifted  iiis  white  light,  and 
the  big  engine  breathed  softly,  and  moved  out 
of  the  station  shed. 

Gene,  following  the  trail  of  the  black  boy, 
stood  upon  the  platform  of  a  car  that  seemed 
to  be  all  plate  glass,  and  stepped  hesitatingly 
into  a  luxurious  drawing-room. 

"  Now  what 's  all  this  folderol,  Tom  !  "  asked 
Gene,  for  he  had  been  abroad  and  had  lost 
track  of  his  old  "  pal  "  of  the  plains. 

Tom  was  a  modest  man,  and  so  told  his 
friend  in  a  modest  way  that  he  was  the  General 
Manager,  and  that  this  was  the  private  car  that 
the  company  had  given  over  for  his  comfort 
and  convenience.  We  may  suppose  it  was  a 
pleasant  evening  that  the  two  captains  passed 
as  the  train  carried  them  away  to  the  West. 


A   COt/riE  O'  CAPTAIXS 


-MS 


A  few  years  later  Tom  left  the  IJurlingloii 
and  went  over  to  take  <  harge  of  the  Union 
racific.  lie  liacl  an  agreement  that  gave  him 
a  fabulous  salary,  and  the  written  promise  of 
the  owners  of  the  pri)i>erty  that  the  road  bhoukl 
be  run  by  him  from  Omaha  and  not  by  anyone 
else,  and,  above  all,  that  he  should  not  be  com- 
pelled to  take  signals  from  the  seaboard,  given 
by  men  who  were  in  the  habit  of  putting  a  day 
coach  in  the  shops  to  have  the  stove  changed 
to  "  the  front  end,"  instead  of  turning  the  car 
on  the  table  or  running  it  round  a  *'  Y." 


This  good  and  useful  man  had  been  at  his 
new  post  but  one  short  year  when  he  was  called 
in  by  the  Great  Manager  of  the  Universe,  and 
when  the  news  of  his  death  went  over  the  wire 
it  made  heavy  the  hearts  of  thousands  of  rail- 
way employees  all  over  this  continent,  for  he 
was,  without  question,  one  of  the  most  humane 
managers  that  has  ever  lived. 

All  night  long,  from  North  to  South,  from 
East  to  West,  as  the  <  onductor  swung  down 
from  a  coach  or  a  way  car,  the  operator  would 
meet  him  and  say  in  a  low  tone,  "  Tom  Potter 's 


II. 


1 

I 

i 

If. 


946 


FKOXTIKK  S TOR  IKS 


dead."  In  inubt  cases  the  cunduciur  wuuld 
make  no  reply,  but  wiien  he  handed  the  urdcr 
up  to  the  j.-ngincer,  he  wouUl  say,  as  the  opera- 
ti)r  liad  saitl  to  liim,  "I'oni  Potter's  dead." 

•'  No  !  "  the  eiJt;iiKinan  would  say,  turning 
to  watch  the  conductor,  who  was  already  taking 
his  way  sadly  bac  k  to  die  caboose  to  break  the 
news  to  the  brakcnicn. 

♦'  What 's  that?  "  asks  the  fireman. 

"Tom  I'otter's  dead."  And  then  the  en- 
gineer would  oi)cn  the  throttle  slowly,  and  if 
she  slipped,  he  gave  her  sand  and  lunnored 
her  and  he  did  n't  swear. 

The  other  captain,  who  has  also  made  a 
name  and  a  place  for  hinisclf,  is  still  witii  us. 
He  is  the  "si)lit-trick  "  in  llic  prosi)erons  law 
firm  of  Gleed,  Ware  and  (jlced,  of  Topeka.  lie 
is  the  wholesome,  happy  two-hundred-i)ound 
poet  of  the  Kansas  capital  whose  pen-name  is 
"  Iron  Quill ;  "  and  if  you  doubt  this  story  it  is 
probably  because  you  have  been  reading 
romances  and  have  lost  confidence  in  the 
simple  true  tales  that  from  time  to  time  appear 
in  print. 


hi 


Ji 


,    A 


